Moscow
by RikkuAlaise
Summary: Sequel to 'Drowning' - Two months after his discovery that a certain Russian contract killer isn't quite as dead as Alex thought he was, his talent for finding trouble sends him stumbling into the man's arms again. Or maybe it's no coincidence? SLASH
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **RikkuRiddle

**Title:** Moscow

**Disclaimer**: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

**Rating: **PG-13 (for now)

**Warnings:** male/male, language, some violence

**Spoiler: **(potentially all AR books)

**Author's comment**: Soo... *huff* I finally managed to type out a bit of the beginning of my Moscow Arc. It's really, really long...XD and I'll try to type out a bit every day, so I can update the story at least once a week. **Very important!** It is kinda important to have read "Drowning" cause Moscow connects to that drabble. (in general: all my drabbles are going to be connected)

**Also, a cry for help from me.** XD My beta has vanished off to America for three months... if anybody feels like they'd like to help me out during that time I'd be really, really grateful. ^^ I have MSN and facebook and can also send the parts of the story via e-mail.

Right, I'll let you read now! ^^

* * *

Alex strolled aimlessly through Moscow's crowded streets. It was early May and still considerably cold for that time of the year. Temperatures had still been below freezing point last night and the young spy could've sworn they had sent Anthony and him to Siberia instead of Moscow.

Frowning, Alex looked up at the high-rising, red walls and towers of the Kremlin and sighed begrudgingly. Right, so they _were _in Moscow but wasn't it supposed to be spring? Why couldn't MI6 send him off to the Caribbean for a change?

He pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket and pulled up his shoulders to bury his nose in the tightly wound scarf around his neck, carrying on on his way as he rounded another corner and reached a narrow street that was lined by little booths. People were bustling back and forth, merchants praising their wares loudly, housewives bargaining with steadily rising voices and it all amounted to an incredibly obnoxious clamour. Constant and annoying.

Worst of all, Alex didn't understand a word of the whole ruckus and it was starting to frustrate him. Why the hell would MI6 sent him on a mission to fucking Russia if he didn't speak a word of the damn language? It really was beyond him.

Well, at least Anthony was fluent and had taught him one or the other thing on their flight. But except for easy stuff like: Я не говою по русский. Не. Да. Спасибо, he didn't remember much. Not that he'd planned to do anything spectacular but he supposed he shouldn't be picky.

More or less successfully, Alex squeezed through the masses of people blocking his way into just about every direction. Briefly, he considered turning around but the hotel was just at the end of this street and around another corner. So going back would only mean he'd have to make a huge detour. Besides, he had to keep an eye on the time. Anthony had said they would leave for the dinner party at eight o'clock.

Alex groaned inwardly. Why was it again that he always had to pose as cover? Oh right, because he was a fifteen year-old kid and nobody would suspect a little boy to work for MI6. Way to feel important.

He remembered Blunt saying something like 'everybody has to play the part they're most suited for'. Come to think of it, the Chief of Special Operations had sounded more secretive than usual this time anyway.

Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, Alex kept pushing past tourists, students, shoppers and whoever was blocking the way. So completely surrounded by people he almost didn't feel the cold anymore.

Suddenly he froze mid-motion, his eyes fixed on a familiar head in the crowd.

"Fucking impossible," Alex breathed in disbelief. But right that moment the person turned slightly into his direction, enabling the teen to see his face.

Yassen Gregorovich.

And then he was gone.

Blinking, Alex elbowed his way through the people, determined not to lose the contract killer. The fact that Yassen was here caused an uncomfortable knot to form in his stomach. It _could _be a coincidence but he really doubted that. Alex knew for a fact that he'd probably never run into someone like Yassen accidentally.

It always meant something. And that was what worried him.

What if the Russian had something to do with the mission they were involved in right now? He really didn't want to think about that possibility.

Panting, the young spy supported himself on his knees for a moment when he reached a little side alley and caught sight of Yassen in the distance. He threw a glance back over his shoulder and maybe it was his imagination but it seemed that street he'd just managed to get through alive was even more packed than before.

Fucking lunatics, all of them.

Straightening back up, he hurried after the assassin, carefully avoiding discovery. It was just a narrow alley and only a few homeless people were sitting at the side. What the hell was he getting himself into? What if he'd end up in some red light district in Moscow and lost track of Yassen? It would be hard to find his way back.

The Russian turned into another street and Alex waited at the corner, until the other was far enough away for him to follow. The street was a lot wider and he watched as Yassen entered a-

Confused, Alex stopped at the huge sign of the establishment. He couldn't read it but it was flashy and mainly red, making it look a lot like a brothel.

Ugh, like he hadn't predicted something like that.

Slowly, the teen walked closer, examining the façade. The building seemed newly renovated, a huge contrast compared to the other decrepit, run-down houses adjacent to it.

He looked around undecidedly. There were two thugs blocking the door apparently only granting entrance if you had some golden card that every guy flashed and got an approving nod in return. Although… Alex doubted that he'd be let in, gold card or not.

The average customer seemed to be wearing expensive, tailored suits, golden necklaces and – to his great surprise – was reasonably attractive. No fat, greasy looking men in their sixties. Maybe this was some establishment designed rather for upper-class men searching for variety in the bedroom that their wives may not provide.

Alex walked up a little closer but made sure he wasn't drawing any attention to himself.

How the hell was he supposed to get into this place?

The thought made him stop and reconsider. Frowning, he folded his arms. Did he even _need _to get in? If it was indeed a brothel and there was every indication of that, then maybe Yassen was-

He blushed slightly and bit the inside of his cheek.

_That _was really none of his business and it was doubtful to say the least that he'd acquire any useful information if the Russian had come here to-

Maybe he should go back to the hotel and pretend he'd never seen the assassin.

Sighing, Alex rubbed his forehead. Why was he just so bad at leaving well enough alone? Might have something to do with the fact that it was Yassen he'd run after.

So he stayed put and continued to watch the people entering and leaving the house for another few minutes. At the corner was a group of women with flamboyant dresses and heavy make-up, their hair done up with an alarmingly high amount of glittering clips and pins. They were chatting animatedly in Russian, voices loud and penetrating.

Everybody in this country seemed to be completely at ease with broadcasting the topic of their conversation to the people ten streets over.

The teen made a small, frustrated sound, wondering if he should go to find a side entrance that might not be barred or otherwise guarded. Since he wouldn't suddenly be offered to enter through the front door, looking for another option to enter the building was his best bet.

Scanning his surroundings, he spotted a tiny alley just behind a few overflowing trash cans and was about to walk over when the group of women caught sight of him and turned into his direction.

One of them called out for him and he cringed, already searching for a good excuse why he was loitering in front of a brothel when he realized (for the billionth time) that he spoke no Russian and didn't understand what the woman was saying either.

"Uh, excuse me- I don't-" Alex stuttered, trying to remembered the few bits of Russian Anthony had taught him. "Я нет… говорю, uh… русский," he winced at how scratchy and awkward everything sounded. If he was sure of something then it was that he'd never be able to speak Russian.

Not ever.

The women were giggling, probably thinking it was _adorable _how he made an idiot of himself. One of them walked over to him, smiling brightly. "Ah, English, da?"

Alex nodded.

Turning back to her friends, she talked rapidly and unintelligibly for a few moments but judging from how the women were suddenly all looking at him and nodding, he was obviously the subject.

Shifting from one foot to the other, the teen glanced around, wondering how he'd get out of this situation again when the whole group sauntered over and he had to refrain from stepping back instinctively.

"Can I help you?" The woman that had spoken to him first asked.

Hesitating, Alex glanced at the entrance and she must've caught his look because she started giggling again. "Oh, нет , нет. You much too young!"

Alex flushed and shook his head. "That's not- I- A friend of mine just went in but he uh-," floundering, he sought for a plausible story. "He forgot his wallet," to emphasize his words, he took out his own and showed it to the women.

"Oh! He go in but no money?" She nodded, understandingly.

"Exactly!"

And then the whole pack was laughing again; it was beginning to go on the teen's nerves.

"That no problem," she waved her hand dismissively before flicking a stray lock of long blonde hair back over her shoulder, flashing Alex an encouraging smile.

"Huh?"

"You have Golden Card, you need no money."

Great. His shoulders slumped. What now? Why was he even still here? He really should be leaving. "But I really need to talk to him!"

The blonde eyed him, looking contemplative as she tapped a manicured finger against her plum lower lip. "What his name?"

Alex hesitated again. "Yassen Gregorovich."

Suddenly the atmosphere seemed to change. The woman shared a meaningful glance with her friends before they put their heads together, whispering frantically, gesturing with their arms. And while some shook their heads with a closed-off expression, some others nodded or shrugged.

The teen was left to fidget uncomfortably once again.

"Mr. Gregorovich, you say?"

"Yeah," he nodded slowly.

"He is friend of yours?" The blonde narrowed her eyes a little as she seized him up, sounding just a little suspicious.

"Uh, yeah."

"Hm," folding her arms, she pursed her lips and stayed quiet but then suddenly took his hand and pulled him along. "Come on then." They walked straight over to the entrance and Alex couldn't help the uneasiness growing inside of him. Just what had he gotten himself into?

The woman spoke fast and hushed as they came to stand in front of the two big and intimidating looking thugs that threw the teen displeased stares, and the only thing he could make out was 'Gregorovich'. The doorman seemed skeptical but a moment later they stepped aside to Alex great surprise.

He stumbled forward when the blonde gave him a little shove and turning around, he threw her a bewildered look.

She smiled and waved. "I still have break. Good luck, my boy!"

For some reason that did nothing to reassure him.

* * *

Please let me know what you think! ^^ (and _please _if anybody has too much time..XD be my beta!)

Russian lines:  
Я не говою по русский. Не. Да. Спасибо - I don't speak Russian, No, Yes, Thanks  
Я нет... говорю, uh... русский. - I not... speak... Russian (as you will notice, I had him make a few mistakes XD)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author: **RikkuRiddle

**Title:** Moscow

**Disclaimer**: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

**Rating: **I'm confused about ratings and usually I write stuff rated R or NC-17.... so, I'm not really sure. XD

**Warnings:** male/male, language, some violence

**Spoiler: **(potentially all AR books)

**Author's comment**: Heh, took me a bit longer than expected but finally! XD Second chapter! I'll be on vacation starting tomorrow for two weeks. So it'll probably take about three weeks in total (minimum, I'm lazy XD) for the third chapter to be online. **Thanks so much** for all the lovely comments! ^.^

**Important **side info: In case anybody of you wondered, Yassen is using no contractions in my stories/universe. There isn't really a special reason for it, except for that when I wrote 'Drowning' I actually thought he really didn't use any in canon either. XD So then I checked just to make sure and realized that he does use them (although not a lot) but decided to keep it the way I had it cause I like it better! XD So, unless it really can't be helped he won't use any contractions (there are a few exceptions now and again cause the phrase would sound awkward/stupid without contractions) but most of the time I'll try to stay true to the "No-contractions-for-Yassen rule." XD

Enjoy! ^^

* * *

Facing the short corridor in front of him, Alex took a few tentative steps forward.

The short hallway was illuminated in a subdued red light, coming from small, ornate lamps that were affixed to the wall which was otherwise bare. He could already hear the soft music from inside and the constant hum of quiet conversation.

A heavy maroon-coloured curtain marked the end of the corridor and he pushed it aside, taking a peek into the room beyond. It was vast and filled with expensive looking furniture; small leather sofas obviously designed for only two people and little tables were scattered everywhere. To his left as well as to his right side were two short flights of stairs leading to a lowered seating area.

Little groups of people sat here and there and Alex recognized a few of the men that he'd seen entering the club, brothel… whatever. They were in the company of ladies that did a pretty convincing job of pretending to hang on their clients' lips, giggling every time it seemed appropriate.

The teen chewed on his lower lip. This all looked innocent enough. Instead of a brothel it could also just be some high-class hostess club or something.

Slowly, he entered the room, grateful that here too the light was dimmed, though on second glance, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him anyway. Alex spotted a bar at the far end and approached it while looking at wide, gold-framed mirrors on the wall that made the whole room appear larger.

There were even chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and he remembered seeing similar ones in pictures of the Moscow metro or the Tsar's palace in their history books. Countless crystals reflected the warm, red glow and cast an array of glittering shards of light.

Suddenly he got the feeling that somebody was approaching him and he threw a glance over his shoulder, only to see a stranger walking straight in his direction. Alex stepped aside and into the shadows of a large plant. He tensed when the man came to a halt just a few metres from him and stared intently, squinting.

Something was off, the teen thought, and then noticed how the stranger swayed slightly. Most likely he was drunk and maybe (hopefully) unable to make Alex out hidden behind the plant.

At that point a female voice called out and the man's head snapped around before he turned away completely and walked over to the other side of the room.

Alex exhaled in relief.

Hastily he made his way to the end of the room and past the bar, behind which he saw a woman maybe in her late twenties arranging the various bottles of alcohol on the shelves. The thick dark carpet muffled his footsteps and he ducked down as the woman turned around; remaining in his crouched position for a moment and pretending to tie his laces, he spotted a staircase to his left, leading up to a second floor.

Making sure that nobody was watching him, the young spy approached it and stared at a small sign at the foot of the stairs, trying to decipher the writing in the scarce light. It was once again in Russian – no surprise there – so the only thing that gave him a clue of what might await upstairs were the small hearts encircling the words.

Alex looked up the stairs dubiously. He hadn't spotted Yassen anywhere down here and he was reasonably confident that he hadn't missed the assassin either. So…

_I'm sure as hell not going up there_, he thought appalled at himself for even considering that idea for longer than a second. Shaking his head, the teen took in the room behind him. This was a brothel. What in the world was he _doing _here? God, this was embarrassing.

"I should go," he mumbled because really, what was the chance that the Russian had indeed come to this place for information one of these rich guys here could provide?

On the verge of leaving, Alex paused when he heard an loud exclamation close by and looked around, spotting a wooden swing-door that was almost completely hidden in the shadow of another plant.

Checking his surroundings, he walked over, surprised to see an English 'Do not enter' sign and pushed the door carefully, worried that it might creak and give him away. But it didn't. Before him lay a long, dark corridor and he held his breath as he sneaked in, staying close to the wall as he moved along.

There were two voices now and they grew steadily louder until he reached a corner and halted. Another, shorter hallway lead to the right and the teen saw two figures standing in the middle of it, the light from an open door next to them enough for him to make out that it was Yassen talking to a woman.

Even though they both kept their voices down, it was so quiet in here that he could hear every word…

Only that he couldn't understand them.

Alex groaned inwardly in frustration, tempted to punch the wall.

_Russian._

Goddamnit, never again would he agree to a mission (not that he ever did in the first place) in a country with a language he didn't speak. He might as well be deaf. It would amount to the same result.

Daring another short glance around the corner, he took a closer look at the woman who was now talking, her voice rising and falling as she gestured wildly. It must've been her who he'd heard back outside. From the looks of it, she must have been in her fifties. Her hair was done up in a loose bun with several clips and pins adorning it and as far as the teen could tell she wore a _load _of necklaces; her fingers were covered in rings and her dress was huge with a ridiculous amount of lace and frills.

But despite her… unusual get-up, her demeanour held something authoritative and strong. She seemed to be a self-assured person.

They appeared to be arguing, even though Yassen looked as composed as always but-

Alex gaped as the woman jabbed the Russian in the chest with one ringed finger before she threw her hands up in exasperation and ranted on.

The teen's attention was momentarily diverted when the assassin interrupted her. Leaning back against the wall, he listened to the rough, strangely throaty sounding words that he couldn't understand. He was astounded how different the Russian's voice was when he spoke in his mother tongue. It was a lot deeper, almost rumbling.

He couldn't help the shiver and swallowed, a frown tugging at his brows.

_I should go_, the young spy thought again. There wasn't anything he could do. Yeah, it sucked that he'd managed to get into the place without being discovered and with a chance of finding out whether Yassen was involved in their mission. Only to then realize that it was all kinds of useless because he didn't understand a single word of the damn language.

Ready to leave, Alex was suddenly startled out of his thoughts by a hand grabbing his bum.

Before he could stop himself, he'd yelped and jumped back in shock, staring at the same man who had ogled him so creepily earlier. The stranger gave him a wide grin and said something in Russian judging from his tone, it was probably something lewd.

The teen heard footsteps behind him and would have loved nothing more than to kick the idiot for blowing his cover. But before he could turn around, the guy advanced on him and reached for his waist.

Alex pushed back furiously. "What the hell?! Get your hands off me!" he exclaimed and stumbled back. He noticed the man looking at something behind him and finally turned around too.

"Екатерина!*" the stranger called out in delight, apparently acquainted with the lady. "Какой красивый мальчик! Откуда он?*" he prattled on, gesturing into the teen's direction.

A second later the pervert grabbed his bottom _again_!

"Argh! Get the _fuck _away from me!" Alex shouted and slapped the hand away, face red in humiliation and anger. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Yassen taking a step into his direction and backed away instinctively, half-expecting an assault when the woman intercepted.

Voice high-pitched and booming, she pushed the young spy aside, now standing between him and the stranger as she shrugged and gestured, throwing Alex intrigued glances.

To the teen's growing discomfort it looked as if the two were bargaining and he was tempted to turn around and ask the assassin whether he was about to be sold off or something. But as it was he could already feel Yassen's piercing stare in his back and couldn't scrap up the courage to actually turn to face him.

Before he knew it, the woman was making a sort of shushing gesture as she moved the stranger off to the swing-door, their constant string of unintelligible words subsiding for a moment.

Alex saw the man throwing longing glances over the woman's shoulder back at him and grimaced, disgusted. What had he gotten himself into?

And then the woman came back. Practically waltzing down the hallway, her long dress billowing behind her and for a moment he feared that she was about to run him over. But she stopped, albeit hardly leaving any space between them.

Another thing he'd noticed about Russians. They had absolutely no regard for personal space.

She asked him something and the only thing he could make out was that it had something to do with 'Russian'. Which… didn't help. He thought that she probably wanted to know if he was Russian but since that was a very vague guess, he preferred to keep his mouth shut instead of replying to something that could have meant "Do you want to be sold to Russians?" for all he knew.

"Err…" Awkward.

Frowning, she folded her arms. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes!" Alex exclaimed a little more enthusiastically than he'd meant to. Why had he never before come to appreciate just how good English sounded?

The woman smiled, eyeing him as she said: "Darling, just how did you get in here?! This is no place for children!"

He tensed a little when she started circling him, nodding appreciatively and the urge to throw Yassen a 'God, can't you see I need help!?' look resurfaced. "I, err… that's a long story."

Ignoring his words, the woman nodded again. "Such a pretty boy. Really if I weren't so strict about children, I would hire you on the spot." She stopped and rubbed a manicured finger against her plum lower lip that seemed enlarged by the flaming red lipstick that matched her nail polish. "But maybe I know somebody who would-"

"No need," Yassen interrupted, speaking for the first time since the whole debacle had ensued. "He belongs to me, Katarina."

Alex didn't know if he was blushing because of the woman's inappropriate insinuation or because of the assassin's ambiguous choice of words.

"Oh, really?" Katarina gave Yassen a surprised, and slightly doubtful look.

"Yes, I told him to wait outside."

The teen winced at the stern glare the Russian was throwing him.

"Ah, but of course he had to sneak in!" Laughing boomingly, the woman patted Alex on the back. His cheeks only grew hotter at the unspoken implication; fortunately it was too dark for any of them to see.

"Who can blame him, da? All the beautiful ladies have made you curious, haven't they?"

"Uh…"

Katarina laughed again.

"Alex, wait outside," Yassen ordered.

The teen nodded, secretly grateful that he had a chance to get away, even if that meant letting the Russian order him around.

"Ah, leaving so soon? C'mon, Yassen! The boy needs some fun and my girls will only be too happy to oblige," she interjected with a disappointed tone. "It will be a welcome change for them too. All these boring-"

"I said: he will wait outside," the assassin repeated unwaveringly, his tone leaving no room for any further argument.

Katarina sighed and shrugged. "You are too strict. But oh well, come and see me any time, Alex." She smiled brightly at him.

The young spy tried to smile back but wasn't sure how successful he was. The whole situation was just too awkward and weird. He took the shortest way out of the brothel, half-dreading to bump into that creepy molester again.

The cold outside took him by surprise; it had been incredibly warm in the building and for a short time he'd almost forgotten that, despite it being May already, the temperatures were still rather chilly in Moscow.

He didn't have to wait long for Yassen to appear. In fact, he hadn't even had the time to consider whether he should make a run for it which, in retrospect, might have been a good idea judging by the icy stare the Russian was giving him.

"What are you _doing _here?"

Alex flinched, about to retort but before he got the chance, he was grabbed by the arm and dragged along. "Hey! Let _go_!" Trying to yank his arm free, all he managed to achieve was that the grip became painfully tight.

"I went after you when I saw you back where that market is, okay?" Alex conceded eventually, hoping that was enough for the other to, at least, let go of his arm.

The assassin stopped and turned around, seizing the teen by the upper arm. "And _why_?"

_Wow_, he swallowed and winced, half intimidated at just how angry Yassen was and half wondering if he shouldn't have expected as much. "What why?"

"Why did you follow me? Why are you in Moscow? Working for MI6 again?" The last question sounded almost derisive as the Russian narrowed his eyes at him.

"I-" Unsure how to react, Alex scowled petulantly. "What's it to you?"

"Do you want me to kill you for following me?"

The teen tensed. "Of course not! What kind of an idiotic question is that?"

Yassen scoffed and _finally _let go of his arm. "You do not speak Russian-"

"Yeah! Tell me about it. I feel like I'm mentally challenged or something! Everybody here speaks that friggin' language. What the hell is wrong with English?!" Alex couldn't hold back his little outburst at the mention of that-

Russian! Gah, how he hated that bloody language!

And the amused expression on the assassin's face didn't help the matter at all.

"What? Stop laughing!" He pouted and crossed his arms.

"You should not have followed me. I will take you back to the main street." Nodding his head towards the end of the alley, the other obviously expected him to start walking.

Alex gave the Russian a distrustful glare before he took a few hesitant steps ahead, distinctly uncomfortable with having a contract killer at his back but a moment later Yassen caught up with him.

"This is some job you're doing here, right?"

"That is none of your business," replied the Russian brusquely.

"Why does it matter if I still work for MI6?" The teen tried something else, just to get at least some sort of reaction from the other.

"You should have gone back to school when I told you to."

"You're expecting me to do a lot of things that you tell me to do. What makes you think I would?"

Yassen halted again and eyed him closely. "It would have been better for you had you not become involved with MI6 again."

"Oh really, why's that?" Alex crossed his arms challengingly, determined to be stubborn but it was hard to keep that up when the assassin was staring him down the way he was.

"You are being difficult on purpose, Alex. Do you enjoy death that much? Constant fear? Being threatened?"

Swallowing, the young spy bit the inside of his cheek. "Of course I don't," he muttered.

A few dubious looking people passed them and it was the first time he noticed the vile smell that came from the dirty water flowing through the open drainage. Waste was cluttering the ground. Apparently having followed Alex' wary glance, Yassen said: "It is very easy to die here."

"No kidding," admitted the teen uneasily. He really hadn't thought of any of these things when he had run after the Russian. Recklessness was an understatement.

"They don't give me a choice, okay?" Alex said suddenly, feeling the need to justify himself. He didn't want Yassen to think that he was just some stupid kid that thought espionage and working for MI6 was cool and exciting. If anything, he certainly didn't do it for the kicks. "They blackmail me into doing these missions for them because I'm a kid and nobody would suspect anything from me," he went on when the assassin didn't respond.

"I'm like the perfect cover," the teen snorted at the thought and his last talk with Blunt and Mrs. Jones. God, how he hated all of this! "So don't come at me with that attitude of 'boys my age think it's all some awesome action game'. I wouldn't be here if I had a choice." After he'd vented he felt a lot better but that didn't last long.

Yassen was still scrutinizing him intently and it made him uncomfortable to say the least. Why the hell had he talked so much again? He really didn't have to explain himself to the Russian. Especially when all he got in return was a 'none of your business' answer. Or no reply at all for that matter.

"It seems I had a wrong impression of you," Yassen stated unexpectedly.

Alex didn't know what to say and they continued on their way. He could already make out the crowd at the end of the alley. Chewing on his lower lip, the teen glanced at the assassin as a grin slowly crept onto his face. "Are you so pissed because I could be a potential threat to the job you're doing or because I interrupted something in there?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder for emphasize, pointing at the brothel behind them.

One of these days the Russian would shoot him for his remarks, for sure.

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you think?"

Alex blushed slightly at the shockingly blunt reply. Ugh, he should've seen that coming.

"It is curious that you would follow me into such an establishment," continued the Russian obviously noticing the teen's embarrassment.

It was a good thing he had a scarf at the time and he pulled his shoulders up to hide half his face. His cheeks were burning and it was just light enough for Yassen to see it. "Way to put me on the spot," he mumbled, giving the other an offended glare who seemed amused by his discomfort. It was hard to stay mad at the assassin when he almost smiled because it was such a rare thing to see.

"I was about to leave when I thought you were busy with, you know." He made an inarticulate gesture, turning even redder. "The only reason why I followed you was because I thought one of those rich guys might have some information. Just so you know."

Oh, how he hated it when all Yassen did was look at him!

"Could you please _say _something?" Alex exclaimed despairingly as the silence stretched on.

They had almost reached the market street and it seemed that he wouldn't get any response from the Russian.

"Katarina is an old friend of mine. I went to see her."

Surprised, Alex glanced at him.

"She took care of me when I came to Moscow as a child."

Wishing that he could say something other than 'I see' or 'That's interesting, he found that the assassin's reply had taken him too much by surprise and decided to keep his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted to do was make Yassen regret that he'd told him something personal.

There was a moment of silence before Alex eventually settled for: "So she was kinda like Jack?"

The assassin raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Oh, you know. Jack took care of me when…" Alex halted for a moment. "When Ian wasn't around and stuff."

"Yes, like that," replied Yassen slowly.

"Jack's crazy, though," Alex grimaced. "I mean, she's great and funny but not very authoritative. Not that I'd want her to be but, you know…And each time she goes out she's swooning about a different guy." He couldn't help a quiet laugh at the thought of Jack. Right now she was probably at home and worried sick about him. He sighed.

"She means a lot to you," the Russian's words weren't a question and the teen nodded.

"Yeah, she's my guardian now."

Their conversation seemed to come to an end at that but so did their way.

They had reached the street Alex had been on earlier, only a little farther down so it wouldn't be quite that far to the hotel.

"Do not follow me again, Alex," Yassen warned in a cold voice, his face closed off and serious again. He wasn't even looking at Alex as his eyes scanned the crow. "Next time you see me, you should pretend you did not and carry on your way."

"Right," the teen replied sceptically. It was strange to be talked to while his presence wasn't even acknowledged. Why was Yassen like that? A minute ago he'd been almost nice; they'd actually had a fairly normal conversation. To some extend anyway.

The Russian turned his head and frowned at him. "I am serious."

"No kidding," Alex scoffed. "What makes you think I hadn't figured as much from the face you're making?"

Yassen's frown deepened, but the young spy shook his head and waved dismissively.

"Forget it. I'll just pretend you don't even exist. But just so you know I can't promise anything."

It was pretty hard to talk over the shouting merchants and arguing shoppers. Flashes of cameras lightened up now and again and some of the things people muttered as they pushed past them were no doubt curses.

They looked just like any of those normal people who were maybe on holiday in Moscow or locals that were here for their weekend groceries. Only that they weren't. In fact, they were anything but normal. Alex saw Yassen turn to leave and reached out to stop him. He got hold of the assassin's sleeve who stopped and looked back over his shoulder at him.

"Have you- Have you ever thought about quitting?"

For a moment, the Russian only looked at him and Alex wasn't sure if he'd heard him over the noise around them. Hell, he wasn't even sure where the question had suddenly come from.

"Yes, I have."

And before the teen could say anything else, Yassen was gone.

The crowd had swallowed him up so quickly, he'd literally vanished in the blink of an eye.

Alex tried to make out the assassin once more but it was no used and hadn't Yassen told him to forget about him just a minute ago? As a matter of fact he'd repeatedly done so before.

Sighing, the young spy shook his head and glanced at his watch.

His eyes widened in shock. "Oh, shit!" He'd totally lost track of the time.

_I'm going to be late. I'm going to be so damn late. _

Whirling around, Alex set off to wrestle his way through the crowd.

* * *

Please let me know what you think! ^^ (criticism too but no insults! whoever is disgusted by slash shouldn't read this anyways)

Russian lines:

Екатерина = literally: Ekaterina but in English the name would be 'Katarina', so that's the way she'll be called when they speak English. ^^

Какой красивый мальчик! Откуда он? = What a handsome boy! Where is he from?

(I hope all this is mostly correct cause my Russian isn't brilliant but I'm working on it XD)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author: **RikkuRiddle

**Title:** Moscow

**Disclaimer**: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

**Warnings:** male/male, language, some violence

**Spoiler: **(potentially all AR books)

**Author's comment**: Hey, guys! I'm back from Mexico and (as expected) the update took a little (lot *cough*) longer than I originally intended. In my defence, I can say that this chapter was a pain in the neck, ugh… I'm still not 100% satisfied but about 95% XD and after days and weeks of fretting over things and still not finding out what bothered me I decided to just let it go. At least there are some parts in the chapter that I really love. ^_^

******NEW VERSION! **I revised quite a big chunk of this chapter again and I'm now 100% satisfied. *lol* Hope you'll like the improvement. I feel like the flow is better now and the pace too.

**Thanks again! **To all the lovely people that left comments! I'm so happy about all of them and although the whole Moscow arc is already finished in my notebook it really encourages me to type it out faster and post it all! Huge thanks also to **Anne Phoenix **(who is putting up with my impatience and going over the whole thing for a second time... =_= guh, I'm so sorry!) and **krissey cullen **for betaing! (again: all the mistakes in the story come from me changing stuff around after the girls checked the chapter)

**Also, I thought I'd address a little "issue" about my style.** As you've probably noticed I use synonyms for Alex and Yassen (and all other appearing characters too) that either refer to the person's nationality, hair colour, profession etc... whatever fits. One of my betas pointed out that it was, hm... confusing maybe? – to read for example when I write in third-person from Alex' POV (which is so far all the time) and he would therefore technically refer to himself as "the young spy" or "the teen". I don't know if that is putting any of you off too but if it does I can see where you're coming from. However, (*lol* XD) I really, really dislike to write "Alex did this to Yassen and then Yassen did this and then Alex was..." blabla, because I don't like the repetition of the names (which becomes a nightmare in smut scenes XD). So therefore I decided, after many hours of wracking my brain whether to change it or not, to keep things the way they are. Hope you don't mind terribly.^^

Enjoy! ^^

* * *

Trying to conceal his boredom, Alex alternated between sipping on his juice and chewing on the straw in his glass as he shuffled past the countless dressed-up businessmen, oil sheikhs, Russian aristocrats or nouveaux riches and their pompously styled wives and mistresses.

He'd always wondered how official parties could be so incredibly dull while everyone looked as if they were having one hell of a blast. The only upside of the whole spectacle was that the dominating language in the room was English.

Anthony had gone to try to wheedle information out of unsuspecting party guests that might be able to help shed light into the still predominant darkness of their mission. MI6's information had been appallingly lacking this time around. If he wouldn't know better, Alex would have said they'd sent them out on a whim.

But of course the British Secret Service would never do such an unprofessional thing.

Alex almost snorted at the thought. At least he could consider himself lucky that Anthony was a really nice guy. Not stuck-up and snobbish about his supposed seniority and skills from having already worked for MI6 for several years. Probably hired straight out of university too if his partner's 'young age' – the teen guessed mid-thirtyish - was any indication.

Anthony had been a pleasant companion on the flight from London to Moscow, which had been a great relief because nothing sucked as much as horrible company in a confined place.

In the course of the evening, Anthony had introduced him to various people of the high and mighty but to be perfectly honest, Alex had remembered neither any of their names nor their faces.

Most people here were obviously looking for business opportunities that would make them even richer than they already were. And by the looks of it those business opportunities did not necessarily have to be all that legal.

Letting his eyes wander as he walked through the huge ballroom, Alex contemplated what possible use a 'house' could have that had so many rooms that even a family of twenty people couldn't fill it. Despite all the superficial grandeur, mansions had never been something that could fascinate him. They were big and empty and would only make the people living inside feel lonely.

Fortunately he had a somewhat decent sense of orientation that would prevent him from getting lost and never finding the exit.

Two women with rather blatant décolletés passed him, giggling and swinging their arms, nearly spilling their champagne. Maybe it was just him but he really couldn't make out any difference between them and the women back at the brothel. Unless of course the fashion sense of Russian women amounted to displaying their goods as obviously as possible. But what would he know about such a thing?

Glancing at his watch, he wanted to groan in frustration at how slowly time seemed to be crawling when somebody bumped into him and made him stumble. Alex managed to catch himself, only half-aware of the other person's hasty apology as his eyes focussed on a figure in the crowd.

Almost halfway across the ballroom stood a man, surrounded by people. Alex could tell he was talking by the way everybody was staring at him, even though he hardly moved his lips. He gave off an indifferent impression, as if not wanting to draw attention. And yet he did.

The stranger was dressed completely in white, the sleeves of his shirt folded up to his elbows and his hands buried in his pockets. He had short, light brown hair with a shimmer of red where it reflected the light and even though Alex was too far away to tell the man's eye colour, he thought that the slightly darker shade of skin on his nose and cheeks might be freckles.

Raising one of his hands, the stranger gave a shrug before withdrawing it and letting it fall to his side. Something about the gesture struck Alex as odd.

Maybe it was the way the man seemed to be leaning backwards a little, away from the people around him, deliberately keeping his distance?

A woman stepped up to the stranger and Alex saw their hands meet for a brief moment, noticing the rings. She wore a burgundy coloured, low cut cocktail dress that matched her high heels and accentuated her endlessly long legs, the silky fabric hugging the curves of her body. Despite her shoes, her companion was still taller than she was.

A strand of long, curly, dark brown hair fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head to whisper something into his ear and he smiled for the first time, rolling his eyes at the comment.

Alex was surprised to see how such a short moment of interaction was able to isolate the couple from the rest of the party guests - as if they were a different entity.

It was hard to tell what exactly had caught his attention in the first place. The stranger was strikingly handsome, yes, but in an unusual, intriguing way.

And then the man suddenly looked into his direction.

Alex wanted to turn away, pretend he hadn't been staring… but he couldn't move.

_Grey, _

he realised as their eyes met, and something about the smile that was slowly creeping onto the stranger's lips took his breath away. It was causing a funny flutter in his stomach that made him feel queasy and flustered at the same time.

Who was that man?

The smile made him look younger and the teen guessed mid-twenties but he couldn't be sure.

His thoughts were racing; on the one hand he knew that he should stop staring, that it was inappropriate and embarrassing, but on the other hand he just couldn't, almost didn't want to. It was something about the way the stranger looked back at him... he'd have called it 'indecent' at a loss for other words but...

It was as though the man could tell who Alex was and what he was doing here only by looking at him. It reminded him of the way Yassen had scrutinized him. But it didn't feel intrusive, it was…

Finally able to move, the teen tore his eyes off the stranger and turned away, feeling dazed and confused. Who _was_ that? Shaking his head, he tried to ignore his conflicting emotions.

Something told him that he'd see that stranger again and he didn't know how to feel about that.

He'd just entered the second uh… ballroom? - it certainly was big and glamorous enough with its glittering chandeliers and expensive looking tapestry - when his eyes fell onto a familiar face.

Yassen.

Why didn't that surprise him anymore?

Alex maneuvered through a few more guests before leaning against the wall behind one of the marble columns that flanked each pair of huge double doors in the room. That way he could watch the Russian without being seen.

Yassen wore a black suit and a narrow black tie with a white dress shirt underneath. It was irritating how effortlessly handsome the assassin could look.

The teen saw three other men standing next to the Russian; they were conversing avidly, gesturing for emphasize and not paying much attention to Yassen who wasn't participating in the discussion.

Instead, the assassin was scanning the room, taking in the surroundings and as Alex noticed to his amusement, Yassen had buried his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking mildly bored. Of course, he couldn't be sure, but there was something about the Russian's posture that was both alert and at the same time his shoulders were slightly slumped, his lips curving downward just a little.

Maybe Alex wasn't the only one who could imagine being somewhere more exciting than at a party of pretentious egomaniacal big shots. "That makes two of us," he mumbled gloomily.

A cold shiver ran down his spine when he saw the assassin go deadly pale; even the blue colour of his eyes seemed to drain. Alex' stomach clenched.

What the-?

Blinking rapidly, the vision was gone as quickly as it had come and Alex was left with a dreadful feeling of déjà vu, thoroughly bewildered by where that had come from. It took him a moment to make sense of what he'd seen.

Air Force One. Damian Cray. Yassen had died that day.

Or so he'd thought.

He gave his juice a dubious stare. There _shouldn't_ be any alcohol in it but suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe he should just stop watching the assassin, there was nothing he could gain; much to the contrary, chances were that Yassen would spot him sooner or later.

Pushing away from the wall, Alex left the room. There was still some time before they would be leaving.

Slightly wary, the teen left his juice unfinished and put the glass on a tray of a waiter who conveniently happened to walk by.

A long hallway stretched out in front of him, decorated similarly to the two ballrooms but with paintings hanging on the walls showing different versions of the apocalypse.

Raising his eyebrows, the teen studied the extensive depiction of gore and he couldn't decide whether all the blood and limbs lying around, the skeletons and the people's agonised faces derived from the artist's ambition to shock or from a fetish.

Opposite the wall were little balconies about every two or three metres. They were framed by long, white curtains swaying with the soft night breeze that was coming in through the half-opened glass doors.

Alex wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as goose bumps rose on his arms.

They'd arrived in a limousine with the heating turned up so high he'd taken his jacket off and forgotten it in the car. So now he was left with only a thin white dress shirt that did nothing to keep him warm.

After a while of aimlessly walking around, he found himself standing at the bottom of a wide staircase and glanced over his shoulder to check if anybody was watching him. He wasn't out for trouble nor did he expect to walk into anything secretive upstairs but who knew if the host of the party would take too kindly to find him snooping around his house.

The stairs were covered by a thick, red carpet that muffled his footsteps as he climbed up.

Upon reaching the top, Alex' eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimmed light before he looked around, taking in the old vintage lamps on the walls and the long corridor going off to each of his side.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he turned right.

There were several closed doors on each side and the farther he walked down the hallway the more faded the music and chatter of the party downstairs.

Suddenly there were voices behind him and heavy footsteps that quickly came closer. Whirling around, Alex ducked behind an old grandfather clock that stood in a niche just to his right.

A few moments later, two men came to a halt in front of the door right next to the niche the teen had hidden in; they were arguing with rising voices and Alex perked up when he recognized that they were speaking English.

"Do _not _fool me, Vladimir! I will call the deal off if you don't keep up your end of the bargain!"

Before the teen could get a proper glimpse at either of them, the door was unlocked and the two men went inside, not bothering to close the door behind them.

"Don't you _dare_ to threaten me!"

Alex jumped as something shattered and eased out behind the clock, still staying close just in case he would have to take cover again.

There was a derisive, mocking laugh. "What will you do? You are in my house, my country. My men are everywhere."

Frowning, the teen tried to make sense of what they were arguing about when he bristled. A second ago he'd been sure he was alone, but now he could practically feel the presence of somebody right behind him.

Shifting his weight to his left foot, he wanted to jump back and turn around but before he could get the chance, a hand clamped over his mouth and an arm wrapped tightly around his midriff and arms, rendering him immobile. The strength exerted was too strong for him to put up any successful resistance.

Alex continued to struggle anyway. The corridor had been empty just a minute ago!

"Stop it!" The stranger hissed lowly into his ear and the teen froze.

Yassen.

The hand from his mouth was removed slowly and he turned his head, sending the assassin a resentful glare. "What, now you're following _me_?" he hissed back.

The Russian gave him a look that conveyed as much as 'Why ever would I do that?'

Huffing quietly, Alex shook the other's arm off and took a step away, torn between wanting to listen to what was going on inside the room and not knowing whether Yassen worked for these men and would drag him into the room any second.

The decision was taken from him when a furious shout caught his attention:

"You should not forget that you have _nothing_ without me!" The voice shook with suppressed rage. "Those are _my _people and if you cannot afford it anymore I will find someone else to sell them to!"

Alex eyes widened. Human trafficking?

"You promised two hundred for the money!" Groused the other; his accent sounded very Spanish while the guy called 'Vladimir' was most likely Russian.

"That was when you could still pay 2000 dollar each! I heard you're bankrupt Randáll."

"Pah, rumours! And what about you? Last time you shipped the people you were almost discovered. Your people work sluggishly! How do I know my cargo will arrive?"

If the topic wouldn't have been so serious, Alex would've rolled his eyes at the childish bickering. Yassen was still standing behind him and he wondered what the assassin was after. Apparently it wasn't him.

"No need to worry. The best man in the business is working for me now."

"Oh, is_ that_ right?"

"Yes. Yassen Gregorovich, ever heard of him?"

"Indeed, I have," the Spaniard sounded suspicious and awed at the same time. "And I have also heard that he died quite a while ago."

"Oh, _please_! A man like Gregorovich doesn't die!"

Alex tensed at the words. _I knew it_. He wasn't surprised that the assassin worked for those guys but human trafficking? Anger bubbled up inside of him.

"Eh? Что это?"

The man called Vladimir had switched to Russian and Alex heard footsteps approaching.

Yassen's reaction was faster than his own. He was grabbed by the arm and pulled behind the grandfather's clock, mildly surprised that the little niche provided enough space for both of them.

The assassin's hand was clamped over his mouth again while the other arm wound around his waist. Alex' heart was hammering in shock, afraid that they'd be discovered. It was hard to breathe only through his nose and he reached up, careful not to bump into the clock and pulled the Russian's hand off his mouth, clutching at it despite himself, his fury momentarily forgotten.

The door swung open and one of the men poked his head out. "Did you hear something too?" he called back to the other man behind him.

"What? No."

Alex could see the man frowning and looking around once more before returning to the room.

"Страннo, I swear I heard a noise."

Releasing a breath, he hadn't realised he'd been holding, the teen tensed all over again when he felt Yassen's lips against the shell of his ear.

"Trouble really seems to keep finding you," the assassin whispered.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of the Russian's body pressed against him and the even breath ghosting over his ear and neck. A familiar feeling started to stir in the pit of his stomach that only worsened at the other's arms around him pulled him closer. And for a second his brain came to the ridiculous conclusion that Yassen was making a move on him.

_In your dreams_, a small voice in the back of his mind mocked and when Alex became aware of the door standing open and the two men stepping back out into the hallway, he realised that the assassin's only motive had been to prevent their discovery.

"It will all go according to plan," Vladimir reassured. "If you have the money. I will have the people for you."

Their voices drifted off as they reached the end of the corridor and descended the stairs.

Slowly, Yassen and Alex stepped out into the corridor again.

MI6 hadn't mentioned a word of what exactly would be awaiting them in Moscow. They only knew about some Russian big shot, who had recently been to England and was supposedly involved in a few shady transactions that were 'processed' at ports in the south of England before they moved on southwards. Probably to Africa.

Who would have thought that the goods of these transactions were people? Sold to corrupt officials, maybe for work on plantations or worse, for prostitution.

It was a nightmare.

Alex couldn't believe Yassen was working for those bastards. Although he knew it shouldn't surprise him. He'd never expected for the Russian's morals to be too high and as long as the paycheque was big enough…

Still.

Turning around, the anger came back and he balled his fists. "You know, I remembered some really noble words from you about 'vile and despicable men" that you didn't want to be compared to," the teen spat, his fury only fuelled by the assassin's utterly unconcerned expression.

"Have you no conscience? Or have you sold that to the highest bidder too!"

Alex didn't know if he was disappointed because he'd hoped that after Yassen had admitted working for Cray was a mistake that he'd quit the job altogether or at least work for people that didn't torture innocents for their mad ambitions. Or whether his anger was more directed at himself for thinking, hoping that maybe the Russian had changed, if only a little.

"I do not have to justify myself to you," Yassen replied coldly and hadn't it been for the flicker of annoyance showing in his eyes, Alex would've thought nothing could faze the other.

"Of course you don't! But you know what?" Stepping up to the Russian, he pushed against his chest challengingly, dimly wondering where the nerve to stand up to the assassin had come from. Maybe he was getting reckless because he hadn't been put in place for a while.

Actually he was fairly sure that Yassen wouldn't let anybody speak to him like that unless they wanted to end up dead. But he was too aggravated right now to care. "I bet if somebody offered you enough money you'd even put a bullet through my head, wouldn't you?"

The words had barely left his mouth when he was seized by the arm and slammed against the wall. Yassen was right in front of him, a brief expression of anger flitting over his face and Alex was just waiting for the blow to fall.

He flinched, clenching his eyes shut as the Russian raised his hand but instead of the expected hit he only heard a dull thud.

Hesitatingly, Alex opened his eyes and looked at the assassin whose face was turned away from him, his jaw clenched tightly. The teen was still angry but felt too intimidated to lash out any more.

Yassen's fist had struck the wall next to his head and he couldn't tell why the other hadn't aimed for him after all. He tensed as the Russian looked at him, and it was something about the other's expression that made him wonder if Yassen would argue after all, would try to convince him that he was wrong about what he'd said. Alex wished he would.

A second later, the Russian grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, drawing a startled gasp from the teen. He leaned in and hissed into Alex' ear: "Maybe I would. In fact-" His grip tightened, pulling painfully and the young spy winced, trying to shrink away or bend into the direction of the other's hand to ease the strain. To no avail.

"It might not have to be all that much money, considering how big a nuisance I would be getting rid off at the same time," the assassin gave Alex' hair another sharp tug before pushing him away and letting go as he stepped back.

Inhaling shakily, the teen tried to regain his composure which was hard to do while his heart was beating rapidly with suffocating fear. But something inside of him wouldn't allow him to stand down no matter how scared he was. Ignoring the fact that he was practically trapped, pressed against a wall and most likely seconds away from a very sudden death, his stubbornness won out. "Fuck you! Why not go ahead then? Finishing off a defenseless little teenager; I'm sure that'd get you off!"

Yassen didn't move as he regarded Alex for a seemingly long moment, a mirthless smile ghosting over his lips. "Who knows?"

Before the teen had even a chance to react, the Russian had struck out again, his hand closing around Alex' neck and for a moment he'd feared it would crush his windpipe or that the other would simply snap his neck.

Pinning the young spy bodily against the wall, the assassin's fingers dug into Alex' skin, cutting off his air supply. Alex wanted to take a shocked breath but no air would reach his lungs. He stared at Yassen with widened eyes, scrabbling uselessly at the Russian's hand.

There was no emotion betraying the killer's thoughts as he coldly appraised the helpless teen. "Somebody really needs to teach you when to keep your mouth shut." He gave an almost disappointed sigh, not letting up.

Alex' vision was starting to blur and his lungs were screaming for air. Oh god, he really was going to die. His attempts to get the assassin off him turned desperate but there was nothing he could do. Defeat and realisation washed over him and he gasped softly, now clutching at Yassen's arm.

"'s killing… the only thing… you can do?" Alex managed to get out. He wanted to cry, to scream but he couldn't. There was no strength left. No air, no…

Fear and pain gave way to unconsciousness that seemed like a welcome embrace in exchange.

_I don't want… to die._

- Y/A - Y/A -

"-ло!"

Somebody was shaking him and Alex felt his head ache even before he'd opened his eyes. Groaning, he blinked and raised his hand to press against his forehead.

"Ты в порядке?"

Wincing, he shook his head. "Ugh, no Russian!" his voice sounded hoarse and he swallowed with some difficulty but his throat was completely parched. Every word hurt.

There was a low chuckle and Alex finally looked up to the stranger. Had the circumstances been only a little different, he would've been surprised to see the man he'd not so subtly stared at earlier in the ballroom but as it was, he was too disoriented and dizzy.

"You look like shit," the stranger smiled sympathetically. He spoke with a Russian accent that wasn't very strong but still noticeable.

"Thanks," Alex croaked and grimaced as the memory of what had happened slowly returned to him. Tensing, he looked around but the assassin was nowhere to be seen. "Oh wow..." he breathed. "I'm not dead."

"You sure about that?"

"What?" He frowned at the stranger who laughed and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. His head was spinning from the sudden change of position and he had to hold on to the other until the vertigo subsided. "What time is it?"

The man supported him with one arm as he glanced at his watch. "Half past eleven."

Screwing up his face in concentration, Alex tried to work out how long he'd been unconscious and came to the conclusion that he should definitely get back downstairs and find Anthony.

"Thanks." He let go off the other and took one staggering step before his knees wobbled dangerously and he thought he'd land on the floor but the stranger caught him, laughing again. His undignified 'hmpf' was muffled as his face collided with the other's chest and he couldn't help noticing how nice the man smelled. He inhaled involuntarily.

"So young and already so drunk."

"'m not _drunk_!" Alex protested, blushing and straightening back up, trying to get a little bit distance between them without having to let go of the other, just to be safe.

"Hmm, yeah. You don't smell the part." Raising his head to glare at the man, the teen's eyes dropped to his lips that had stretched into an amused smile instead. God was this guy handsome. Alex swallowed and averted his eyes embarrassedly. What the heck was he thinking? Must be the lack of oxygen in his brain.

"What's your name?" The stranger raised an eyebrow as he eyed the teen.

He hesitated, contemplating whether telling the other his name was a wise idea but then Anthony had introduced him to some of the party guests too. Using a fake name of course. So he figured giving his first name couldn't do too much harm. "Alex."

"Really?"

Alex frowned slightly. "Yeah. And you?"

The stranger was smiling again and the teen wished he would stop; it made him stare at the man's lips again despite not wanting to. "Aleksander."

He blinked. "Oh."

"Interesting coincidence."

Alex noticed the other looking at his neck and was sure there were bruises. Refraining from reaching up to touch his throat, he glanced down the corridor again. _I need to get going. _

"Here." Aleksander held out a thin, white scarf - the teen had no idea where he'd got it from. "For your neck," he explained unnecessarily. "Those bruises aren't very subtle."

Uncertainly, Alex eyed the little piece of fabric. "Thanks but-"

"You don't want to show up like that downstairs. Trust me," the other interrupted and pursed his lips.

So he took the scarf, giving Aleksander a careful glance, and wrapped it around his neck. He picked up the familiar scent and how the scarf was still a little warm and blushed once more. "Thanks," Alex mumbled, not meeting the man's eyes.

Aleksander shrugged. "Don't worry about it." He gestured down the corridor. "Let's go."

Following the other, they made it back to the stairs and went down into the first ballroom that was still as crowded it had been before and Alex thought he heard Aleksander groan. He glanced over and indeed saw the man's dismayed expression. Something about that made him chuckle. "What's the problem?" he asked before he could stop himself.

The Russian shook his head. "Oh, nothing."

"Alex!"

The teen jumped and turned around, seeing Anthony approach and a wave of relief washed over him.

"Jesus, where have you _been_?" the agent's voice dropped so only Alex would hear him which wasn't too difficult with the music and chattering around them.

"I, err-" he smiled apologetically. "Are we ready to go?"

Anthony nodded. "Yeah. You go ahead, I'll be right out. Just need another minute or two." He gave the teen a quick once over, still looking concerned. "I want to hear about it. In the car."

"Okay."

A moment later, the agent was gone again and Alex saw Aleksander watching him.

"Your dad?"

"Uh, yeah."

The Russian smiled and it was obvious that he didn't buy it; the teen was surprised when Aleksander didn't ask again. "Well, I suppose you'd better be going home with your dad then." His eyes were directed at something behind Alex.

Turning around to see what the other was looking at, the teen froze when his gaze landed on Yassen. His stomach turned and he thought he was going to be sick.

But the assassin wasn't looking at him; he was giving Aleksander an inscrutable stare.

"Goodbye, Alex."

He jumped a little when a hand was placed onto his shoulder and turned back to face the other again, his eyes flickering down to Aleksander's fingers as they slid off. The touch seemed to be lingering despite it having been retracted so fast and Alex bit the inside of his cheek, confused.

"Although I'd like to say something else, let's hope we don't meet again." Without waiting for an answer, Aleksander left, waiving over his shoulder.

Alex stared after him for a moment, feeling slightly nonplussed when he remembered that he was supposed be leaving and made his way to the exit.

Upon reaching the main entrance, he paused and took a deep breath, trying to shake off some of the crushing tension inside of him.

Before him lay an enormous staircase of white marble that lead to a roundabout where various limousines were parked. Lawn stretched out on both sides of the stairs that was dotted with little bushes and framed by a meticulously trimmed hedge.

The teen was still pondering over everything that had happened when he froze mid-step before carrying on, his eyes flitting over to the bushes. There seemed nothing out of place but… had he really seen something move?

Not wanting to draw attention, Alex only slowed down a little but kept descending the stairs until he reached the bottom and turned around. He saw Anthony leaving the mansion and glanced over to the lawn again, his stomach clenching.

Something was wrong.

It was impossible to tell what. Had their cover been blown? Had Yassen let somebody know that there was an MI6 agent on the party? It was possible.

It didn't really matter at the moment anyway. He had to do something and so far his gut feeling about these things had never failed him.

Alex considered gesturing or shouting to his partner but decided against it. Too obvious and if there really was somebody hiding behind those bushes he could just shoot Anthony anyway. Chances were that his partner wouldn't be able to get out of the way fast enough. Besides… there were people around them and where Anthony stood the music would probably drown out anything Alex would say.

Settling on plan B, the teen visibly searched his pockets, looking around himself and acting as if he'd lost something before making his way back up the stairs, hoping that he'd get to Anthony in time. Or… that his worries were unfounded to begin with.

He caught his partner's questioningly look but lowered his head, listening to any sound that would tell him what was about to happen. They were only a few more steps apart when a gunshot rang through the night and Alex threw himself at Anthony instantly, hauling him bodily to the side.

A sharp, piercing pain ripped through his left arm and Alex couldn't help the shocked cry. Blood splattered on the stairs and he heard startled voices, footsteps coming closer.

Alex wanted to stand up and walk away; avoiding the attention but his legs wouldn't obey him. He must've hurt his knees when falling onto the hard stairs.

It was Anthony who hoisted him back up, pulling the teen close as they pushed past the people surrounding them while he reassured everyone in English or Russian that everything was fine.

Frowning at his own inability to act, Alex let himself be dragged away. The bullet had hit his arm, not his head, he thought in frustration. Why was he so helpless?

Before he knew it, they were at the limousine and Anthony had opened the door, helping him in but Alex waved him off, unfortunately with his injured arm, and hissed. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he replied to whatever it was Anthony said to him.

Anthony nodded and walked around to the other side of the car.

Reaching out to pull the door shut, Alex paused as his gaze flickered to the top of the stairs and fell onto Yassen looking down at him.

Their eyes met and for a second he thought he'd seen a worried expression pass over the Russian's face. But it could've been an irritated frown just as well.

Alex gave a tight-lipped smile and closed the limousine's door.

- Y/A - Y/A -

Alex sat on his bed in their hotel room, dangling his legs as Anthony talked with MI6 on a secure line. The longer he listened to the conversation the angrier he got.

He'd told Anthony about Yassen – discreetly glossing over one or the other unimportant issue, such as nearly being strangled to death - and to his astonishment found out that his partner thought the contract killer was dead. Why was MI6 still keeping the Russian's survival a secret? It practically gave him free reign, didn't it?

Fumbling with the thin scarf around his neck, Alex marveled how soft the fabric was and the stranger's parting words came back to him. /_Let's hope we don't meet again_./ Who was he? And... the way Yassen had stared at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that the two knew each other.

/Alex must've been mistaken. Yassen Gregorovich's death was confirmed by our men that cleaned up after the Cray incident./

He jumped off the bed in exasperation and held his hand out to Anthony who was sitting across him on an armchair, so Alex could hear most of the conversation without them having to switch the loudspeakers on.

"May I?" Alex asked barely refraining from simply ripping the phone out of his partner's hand.

/It is impossible that Alex could've-/

"Oh, is it?" The teen snarled and cut Blunt short.

"Alex," the Chief of Special Operations didn't sound surprised. "Please put Mr. Brown back on the phone."

"Like hell I will!" Alex walked away from the other and into the next room before continuing. "You know damn well that Gregorovich is alive! He saved my life two months ago, _remember_?" he hissed with gritted teeth, fuming. _And almost killed me today._

/Alex, listen-/

"No, _you_ listen! I saw him today. _Twice_. He's obviously involved in whatever is going on here," Alex took a deep breath, telling himself to calm down. He didn't want to say anything he'd later regret. "I don't know why you're doing this or why you made everybody believe that Ya- Gregorovich was dead in the first place. But you can't just withhold information like that from Anthony! If anything it'll get us killed."

There was a short silence at the other end and Alex paced back and forth, glaring at his own reflection in the windows.

/Alex, please put Mr. Brown back on the phone./

He very nearly threw the phone on the floor, hadn't it been for Anthony who was suddenly behind him and stopped him. Begrudgingly, the teen handed his partner the phone and stomped off, wincing as his left shoulder bumped against the doorframe.

Anthony had taken care of the injury immediately after they'd driven off in the limousine. He'd been lucky that it was only a graze wound, if only by a very narrow margin. His upper arm was now bandaged neatly and Anthony had assured him that everything should heal properly; maybe it wouldn't even leave a scar.

Like he gave a damn if it scarred or not. What difference did it make? One scar more or less, he wouldn't have any if it wasn't for MI6.

Crossing the main room of their hotel room in big strides, he tried to walk his fury off but it didn't seem to work. Why in the world did MI6 keep pretending that Yassen was dead? It just didn't make any sense to him. What good could it _possibly_ do?

"Alex?"

He jumped and turned around. Apparently Anthony had finished his call.

"What did they say?" the teen grumbled but the other only shrugged and gave him a sympathetic look.

"They say it's impossible that you saw Yassen Gregorovich."

Alex scoffed and unconsciously rubbed his neck through the scarf. It had felt pretty real to him when the Russian had choked the life out of him. But he hadn't told his partner about that and couldn't really say why. Maybe he should have, maybe he should've told Blunt.

"I don't know what to think," Anthony admitted. "I can't see why you'd be lying about this but… maybe you've seen somebody who looked just like Gregorovich?"

The teen threw him an indignant glare and he held his hands up, placating. "I'm only saying that it's possible. Although from what you've told me it doesn't seem very likely." Anthony sighed and shook his head. "This is all really strange but I can't clear the mission for a higher security level if Mr. Blunt won't confirm your discoveries. Of course, if you'd really seen Gregorovich I'd have to take you right off the mission but as of now my hands are tied."

Alex nodded, still annoyed. "I know. That's okay. I didn't mean that I want to be taken off the mission."_ I just want somebody to believe me, goddamnit. And I want… _

Something about this wasn't right. MI6 was hiding something from them. He'd had a bad feeling from the start but this really made him wonder what Blunt was playing at - he _knew_ Yassen was alive.

Alex could still remember the Stormbreaker mission and how anxious Mrs. Jones had sounded at the name of the contract killer and that they would pull him out right away if there was any indication that Yassen could be involved with Sayle.

And now?

MI6 had sent them to Russia on a mission with hardly any information; sent him no less when he didn't speak a word of the language and if that wasn't already enough Yassen Gregorovich showed up; but instead of taking immediate action, Blunt acted as if everything was in perfect order.

Alex was starting to have a really, really bad feeling about this.

* * *

Don't forget to let me know how you liked it! (as always: criticism as long as it's constructive (and provides suggestions how to improve, heh XD) is welcome too!)

Russian lines: Что это? – What's that?

(Это) странно – Strange (I left out the 'это' above. A Russian friend told me that's possible.^^ But in case anybody who's familiar with Russian wondered why I wrote 'странно' instead of 'странный'. It's because technically there would be 'это' and therefore the adjustment of the gender.)

Ты в порядке? - Are you okay?


	4. Chapter 4

**Author: **RikkuRiddle

**Title:** Moscow

**Disclaimer**: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

**Rating**: Should be 'R' or 'M' (anyways, not the highest rating XD)

**Warnings:** male/male, language, some violence

**Spoiler: **(potentially all AR books)

**Author's comment**: Chapter four! XD Ah, that was a pain in the neck. *lol* So many changes compared to the original version in my notebook but I'm happy with it! ^___^ Also, since I've got a vague idea now what to include in which chapter, I think the Moscow arc will have seven chapters in total.

**Thanks you all! **for your lovely comments! ^.^ (and I don't mean to be demanding but I looooove long comments! *wink*)

Thanks again to **Anne Phoenix **for betaing and re-re-re-betaing my story cause I always change around so much after she's done and then she has to do it again. Your such a great help! (all the left-over mistakes are once again from me because I'm obsessed with rearranging stuff over and over again…)

**NOTICE! NEW VERSION OF CHAPTER THREE! **Before anybody reads chapter four, you guys should re-read chapter three. XD Not because it's so great, but because I updated the chapter with some rather big changes. And some things in chapter four and ongoing won't make sense to you if you haven't read the new version of chapter three. ^^

Enjoy!

* * *

It was seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, and Moscow's streets seemed almost deserted compared to the bustling crowds that would populate the city in just a few hours. But as of now the only folk around were a few groups of young people on their way home after a long party and the first merchants setting up their booths for the market; men in suits hurried along as well as mothers taking their children to the kindergarten before going to work too.

None of them paid any heed to the blond teenager who slipped into one of the smaller back alleys or the two bulky looking men in black suits that followed.

Alex' rapid footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor, his breath fogging in the chilly morning air as he tried to shake off his pursuers. Sweat was trickling down his neck and forehead and he wiped it away, repeatedly telling himself that those thugs were _not _closing in on him.

Anthony had woken him roughly an hour ago with the explanation that they need to get dressed and get out of the hotel -- _now_.

Sure enough, they'd barely made it to the stairwell when four men in black suits and with the physique of bodybuilders had come out of the elevator, heading straight for their room. Two of them were now chasing after him while the other two were probably making Anthony's life difficult.

They'd decided to split up, even though Anthony had been reluctant about that idea at first, and agreed to meet later at the Belorussky Rail Terminal as soon as they'd ensured their safety again.

In retrospect, Alex wished his partner had given him a gun or something suitably effective to fight off two men twice his size. Especially now that outrunning them seemed rather hard to accomplish.

He came to a skidding halt at a corner and crashed into the wall. The puddles of sewage that were scattered across the ground had frozen over night, making it fairly tricky for the teen to stay on his feet.

Fortunately, it was his right shoulder that had collided with the cold brick, but even so his left arm was burning from the inevitable jostling of the run.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Alex raced down the next back street, carefully avoiding waste bins in his way. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep running if there wouldn't be a way to get his pursuers off his track.

The teen rounded another corner when he saw a door standing open and slipped inside. It led him to an old storage room of a former shop that had been abandoned long ago. He scanned the room for anything useful, but the empty wooden shelves provided little. Just as he started to feel despair he spotted an iron bar and grabbed it.

Alex crouched down behind a large crate and waited with bated breath, wondering if an attempt to take on his pursuers was such a bright idea.

However, the time for further contemplation was cut short as the door slammed open and heavy footsteps made the wooden planks creak. The men exchanged a few brief words in Russian before Alex could hear them moving again.

Every muscle in his body was tensed and he prayed that he'd be able to put enough strength into the hit despite his injured arm. A board close to him gave a loud crack that almost made him jump and a moment later he saw one of his pursuers pass by his position, oblivious to his presence.

Alex jumped up, already swinging the iron bar through the air and brought it down onto man's head. He went down instantly and Alex dropped the bar, making a run for it.

There was a second exit on the other side of the shop that he'd seen when entering. But he wasn't fast enough. Before he even got close, his right arm was grabbed and he was hauled around.

Letting the shard of glass, that he'd picked up earlier and hidden in his sleeve, slide into his still free left hand. He rammed it into the man's upper arm, hoping to hit muscle and nerve.

The man swore loudly, his face contorting as he let go of Alex.

Whirling around, the teen burst through the door and he ran down another alley that looked just as dreary and grey as the all the previous ones had.

A moment too late, he realised that he'd manoeuvred himself into a dead end and stopped, shocked.

The young spy must've resembled a hunted animal as he searched frantically for another way out. His heart was beating so hard against his ribcage it almost hurt and from the wet feeling on his left arm, he guessed that the wound had started bleeding again.

Alex spotted a little door that was hidden behind a large heap of rubbish and a makeshift homeless shelter and hurried over to it. He threw an anxious glance over his shoulder when the sound of footsteps suddenly started to echo through the alley once more.

He yanked at the handle but the door was locked. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his eyes shut and launched himself against the door but it didn't even budge.

The footsteps came closer and he tried a second time.

Nothing.

They were going to catch him. They would kill him as soon as they'd noticed that he didn't have any valuable information either. Panic began to well up inside of him and he tried his best to fight it down.

Had Meshkov sent them? He had to. But how had he found out about Anthony and Alex?

Alex took a few steps back; his right shoulder already throbbing with pain from the attempts to open the door and ducked his head as his pursuers rounded the corner, coming into view and raised their arms.

The teen threw himself against the door again and it gave way the same moment as gunshots ripped through the morning air.

Alex saw bullets flashing just past him as he fled into the building that looked like another abandoned shop and he headed straight for the other exit, dashing down the way on the other side of the building.

The air was burning in his lungs and his muscles started to protest but he pushed on.

Alex didn't know for how long he was running, but after a while he noticed the absence of footsteps. Slowing down a little, he tried to catch his breath and looked around. All the streets and alleys seemed identical.

Coming to a reluctant halt, he had to face the fact that he was lost.

_I have to return to one of the main streets_, he thought, fighting against the rising despair. From there he'd be able to find his way back.

Gasping for air, Alex hurried down the long narrow streets but stopped abruptly when he reached the side of an old factory.

It was a big yard that was filled with cargo containers in various colours. They were stacked on top of each other to high pillars that towered over him just as much as the grey buildings did.

Where in the world was he? Maybe close to the Moskva? He knew there where warehouses and vast yards of the same containers he was looking at now – he'd seen them from the taxi when they had arrived in Moscow only a day ago.

_Shit, I'll never find my-_

No. No, he couldn't think that way.

Shaking his head as if that would help to rid himself of the frequently recurring thoughts of hopelessness, Alex glanced at his arm, suspecting that the bandages were probably completely soaked with blood; it even started to seep through his sweater.

He stood very still, his eyes roaming the yard as he listened into the silence. It was _too _silent. Something was wrong. The tension in the air was so thick and he was completely out in the open if his pursuers had used a shortcut to overtake him. He'd be easy game right now.

Balling his fists, Alex walked slowly through the container towers. His breath was rattling and sweat was running down his temples but he didn't bother to wipe it off anymore. The gravel on the ground crunched beneath his feet with every step he took.

And then he heard it -- a low double click to his right.

Swallowing, Alex moved to the side and pressed himself against a container. The frosty metal felt pleasant to his hot skin. Keeping his back to the container, he inched sideways until he reached the end and glanced around the corner.

It was clear.

Inhaling deeply, the teen rounded the corner and dashed down the seemingly endless corridor between the pillars.

A moment later, heavy footsteps followed him and a shot rang out, but Alex didn't stop.

_Just a little further._

A little further and he could leave the yard behind. They wouldn't be able to sneak up on him so easily when he was back in an alley.

Another shot was fired that barely missed his left leg. Then it was quiet again and he could finally see the end of the yard, the beginning of another alley-

When suddenly a shadow stepped out from behind a container.

Alex' eyes widened as he was unable to stop and he was hauled to the ground, groaning in pain when the back of his head collided with the hard gravel. He looked up, coughing at the dust whirling around him and coming face to face with one of the strangers that were hunting him down.

A nasty grin stretched the man's lips as he bent down to him. Despite his protesting arm, the young spy scrambled backwards.

He was trapped. There was nothing he could do.

"Who would've thought a little punk like you could give us so much trouble. Greater men have gone down quicker," the man sneered. "But don't worry kiddo. It's over now."

He raised his gun.

It had only been a second, maybe two, but still enough time for Alex to grab a handful of dirt while the other had talked. He threw it into his face and jumped up, kicking the gun out of the guy's hand before managing another close escape.

He'd made it to the end of the containers when the second guy came out of nowhere to his left but Alex darted into a narrow side street in front of him and skidded around the first corner.

The smell of his own blood filled his nose and he had to fight down the bile rising in his throat. It felt as if he'd already been chased for hours. His legs hurt from all the running, the falling and quite a few times he'd feared his knees would buckle under the strain. Blood was rushing in his ears and he could swear his sharp gasps were echoing through the streets.

As if to mock him the sky was a brilliant blue as the sun rose slowly between the buildings and little white clouds dotted the horizon. But the teen wasn't even aware of any of it.

On the contrary, the alleys seemed to grow smaller, the grey blocks of brick higher, giving off an oppressive feeling and although he was still running, he already felt caught. Trapped in a corner with no way out. His body was reaching its limits.

Alex took a turn into another of the back streets, the strong feeling of familiarity crossing his mind.

Was it possible that he'd found his way back, out of sheer luck?

A fence was pulled up in the middle of the alley and he clambered onto the wooden crates next to it before jumping over. His feet hit the ground and it gave an ominous crunch.

As if ice was breaking...?

Alex' legs were ripped out from under him and he gave a shocked shout, flailing helplessly before landing on the thin sheet of ice. Pain exploded in his bum, shooting up his spine and he barely managed to turn so he would fall onto his right side.

His eyes were clenched shut as he gasped for air, winded and hurting all over. He lay still.

Coldness was creeping into his cheek and through his whole face but Alex didn't move, didn't open his eyes.

Even as he heard the footsteps coming closer again, closer and closer and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have any strength left inside of him. Jack's face appeared before his mind's eye and he would've laughed at his own sentimentality. His guardian would be devastated when they told her about his death.

He didn't want to die, he thought for the second time in hardly a day.

It wasn't fair.

His left arm was slowly growing numb, maybe the cold would freeze the blood and it would stop bleeding. Not that it would matter once he was dead.

_God, I'm so pathetic._

Opening his eyes, he saw his pursuers jump carefully over the fence. They looked down at him with satisfied expression and Alex glared back at them. They must feel so proud, bringing down a teenage boy.

One of them nudged him with his foot. "Hey, you're already dead boy? Don't spoil the fun!"

They laughed and Alex felt anger rising inside of him even though there was hardly anything else he could still feel.

Fucking arseholes. Why would nobody give him a goddamn gun?

Trying to get to his feet, he was kicked in the stomach and cried out as he fell onto his back. He wrapped his arms protectively around his head, ignoring the blinding pain that pierced through his left arm.

The next blow was to his ribs and feared for a second that one of them had broken.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as he was grabbed by the collar of his jacket and pulled up. His head spun and his surroundings contorted out of recognition – he thought he was going to be sick.

A second later, the air was knocked out of him as he was shoved up against the wall, his legs dangling uselessly. Narrowing his eyes, Alex stared at the self-righteously grinning bastard.

He made it look like the teen was some kind of doll that could easily be pushed around.

"Scared, kiddo?"

Instead of answering, Alex spat in his face, feeling slightly satisfied as the bastard's smirk vanished; if only for a moment.

"You little piece of shit!"

The fist at his collar pressed against his throat, cutting his air supply short. He didn't even see the man's blow coming until it connected with his jaw. His head hit the wall with a dull thud and his vision went black.

Alex coughed hoarsely and blinked, unable to breath. If that didn't feel familiar...

The man wiped the spit off his face. "I swear, I'll kill-"

"Good gracious! What is going _on _here?" A female voice interrupted.

Turning his head as much as he could, the teen watched the vague shape of another person slowly become sharper as the hold on his collar eased a little.

The voice belonged to a dazzlingly styled woman in her fifties. Her rich green dress rustled as she came closer and the heels of her pumps clicked sharply. It was a wonder that she didn't even sway on the ice. On the contrary, her stance was as firm as could be. She raised her hands indignantly, rings and bracelets glittering and tinkling and Alex was sure he'd seen her somewhere but his brain was...

"Two grown men against a boy. A very fair fight I must say," she frowned, pursing her red lips.

Alex stared at her and then the pieces clicked into place.

Katarina.

That must've also been the reason why the streets had felt so familiar to him. Her brothel was just around the corner.

"Now please, let the poor boy down."

The two men shared an uncertain glance before the one closest to her shook his head. "I'm sorry, Katarina Vetrovna, but we have our orders."

It struck Alex as odd that they were speaking in English. Maybe because Katarina had started talking in English instead of Russian and he would've been a little more grateful if he wasn't still pinned to the wall, feeling as if he'd just been put through the grinder.

"Orders?" Katarina's frown deepened as she pushed a brown lock of hair over her shoulder that had slipped from her high bun. "From Vladimir, I assume?"

The men nodded.

"Is he scared of children now?" She wondered breezily but her expression remained serious. "I've always wondered if he wasn't going a little mad." Waving her hand dismissively, the Russian woman came closer. "Come now, let Alex down. My gosh, the poor child looks terrified. You should be ashamed of yourself," she pushed past the first of his pursuers who made a helpless gesture.

"But Katarina- You can't-"

"Oh, damn well I can. Just watch me. The boy belongs to me, you can tell that to Vladimir. In fact, Alex is a close friend of mine." Katarina stood right next to the guy that was still holding Alex up.

"Well?" She put her manicured hands onto her hips, the nail polish matching her flaming lipstick and gave the man a dangerous look.

A moment later, he let the teen down. Alex couldn't believe it; he nearly gaped in astonishment.

His feet touched the ground and he leaned against the wall with trembling legs. He hardly had enough strength left to remain standing.

Katarina must have noticed for she wrapped an arm around his waist, steadying him and giving him an encouraging smile.

"Run along then," she shushed his pursuers off as if she was dealing with two naughty boys and Alex couldn't suppress a snort. "I'll call Vladimir this afternoon and settle things."

They watched as the men trudged off and Alex glanced at Katarina, wondering who the woman was to have enough influence to pull off something like that. And while he had no idea what was going to happen to him now, he was still grateful for her help.

Katarina shook her head and scrutinized Alex. "Yassen will not be happy about this," she sighed long-sufferingly.

- Y/A - Y/A -

Ten minutes later, Katarina had taken Alex to her brothel, which she'd told him was named "Grounds for divorce". She'd also told him the story of how she'd become the mistress of it.

Apparently she'd once worked as some sort of high-end prostitute. It had been a different time back then. Lots of exploitation, no money and she'd been the property of her procurer. (Admittedly, in some places it was still the same.) Needless to say, he hadn't been the most charming man one could imagine and at some point she had been no longer willing to live under such oppression.

She'd decided to do the bastard in and had then taken over his brothel. All that had happened over 25 years ago, and Alex had to admit that Katarina had struck him as a strong and independent woman from the start. Only that he hadn't quite imagined just how strong she was.

He was now sitting on one of the wide, soft sofas in the first room of the empty brothel. Most of the lights were switched off and so was the music.

Katarina had explained to him that she always closed from 7am to 3pm because men should realise that there was no woman in the world who was desperate for a man's dick Twenty-four, seven, let alone the rest that came with it.

Alex had blushed at her bluntness and she'd strode off, laughing loudly.

He watched as she came back with a first aid kit and a steaming cup in hand.

Sitting down next to him, Katarina smiled and patted his thigh. "You must be one of the prettiest boys I've ever seen, even though you're rather beaten up right now. Tell me, how old are you, Alex?"

Feeling his cheeks grow hot again, he mumbled "fifteen," and took the mug she held out.

"So young and already in so much trouble. Reminds me of Yassen."

Alex coughed, nearly choking on his drink and winced as the hot liquid burned his tongue. Something about the comment stung. _I don't want to be compared to a murderer. _

"It's tea with vodka. Do you like it?" She beamed at him.

Nodding, he kept his eyes carefully on the mug, watching the amber liquid as he felt warmth spreading through him; it felt good and relaxing. After being woken so early, the insane chase through what had felt like half of Moscow, the steady accumulation of injuries and the cold, he was almost becoming drowsy.

Oh, it would be nice. Lying in his bed and pulling the blanket up under his chin, not having to worry about anything, except for maybe some homework for Monday's lessons at school.

Sometimes he wished to have a normal life more than anything. Was it too much to ask for?

Still eyeing the tea in his hands, he said: "You know, I shouldn't be drinking vodka. I'm still under age."

Katarina let her head fall back and laughed boomingly. "Oh, what a nonsense! In Russia you're not! Here you can drink vodka as soon as you're able to hold a cup! Besides, it'll warm you up. You won't even notice the splash I put in there. Now." Opening the first aid kit, she rifled through it before taking out various items.

"Take off your jacket and shirt; I'll have a look at your injuries."

Alex set the mug down, opened the zipper of his jacket and tried to wriggle out of the sleeves. But the fabric was stuck to his arm from all the blood that had seeped through. Gritting his teeth, he eventually managed to take off the jacket and winced at the rather big red patch on his sweater.

Katarina reached out to help him and together they pealed the sticky sleeve off Alex' arm and bandage.

"Gracious, boy. You are a mess," she shook her head, starting to slowly remove each layer of dressing before cleaning off the blood from his arm when her eyes fell onto the scarf and she gestured to Alex' neck. "Take it off too."

He hesitated but complied in the end, unconsciously ducking his head a little as if that would help to prevent her from seeing the bruises. Why was he always in such a state?

Katarina sighed. "How d' you get those?"

Alex sipped on his tea to buy some time, unwilling to talk about himself. Especially not about his scars and injuries. "It's no big deal," he replied evasively, remembering Yassen's hand closing around his neck and how he couldn't breathe, how the assassin had watched him completely impassively, almost disinterestedly.

_I don't get it. If my life means so little to him why did he save me before? Why didn't he kill me? _

He played with the scarf in his hand and thought of that stranger he'd met -- Aleksander.

Something about his English had struck him as odd. There'd been a very subtle accent apart from the Russian, maybe Irish? But that was unlikely, wasn't it? Although, Aleksander's hair had had a slight tinge of red-

Alex nearly snorted at his strange train of thoughts. As if having red hair meant one would have to have an Irish accent. "Do many Russians have freckles?" he blurted out, barely refraining from slapping his hand across his mouth. "I mean..."

_Christ, _had he no control over his body?

Katarina gave him an amused look. "What are you thinking about?"

He vehemently fought the heat creeping into his cheeks. "Nothing. I was just... wondering."

"I see." Her smile widened. "Well, no. It depends on the region in Russia, I suppose. But most Russians with freckles have ancestors or family from abroad."

"Hmm." Alex pressed his lips together, his eyes following his thumb as he trailed it along the mug's rim. What did it matter? He knew absolutely nothing about this stranger apart from his first name.

_It's none of my business. I'm having enough trouble staying alive without having to worry about some Russian's identity._

Especially after Aleksander had more or less implied that his company wasn't the most desirable one.

Quietly, he watched Katarina disinfecting the wound on his arm and putting new bandages on it. Despite her flashy appearance she seemed to be a practical woman. "You do this often?"

Katarina looked up and rolled her eyes theatrically. "You have no idea! We have many customers who like it a bit rough and so I have to train my girls to not only take care of the obvious needs but also the mess that is left to clean up later," she chuckled at his embarrassment, but not unkindly.

"But I suppose it was Yassen who made me learn this."

The comment took Alex by surprise and he gave her a questioning look, while convincing himself that he didn't really care about anything she could tell him about the assassin.

"He was a horrible child!" Contrary to her words she had a wistful smile on her red lips. "Always in trouble. Stubborn and he _never _listened. He'd show up in the middle of the night beaten up, but with a scowl. I don't think he ever cried."

A little uncomfortable to hear these personal things about the contract killer, Alex went back to studying his tea. His fury that Yassen was working for someone who sold people like slaves hadn't vanished and he wondered if Katarina knew what kind of a person the boy she'd brought up really was. "Do you know?"

She blinked. "Know what, dear?"

Biting his lower lip, Alex hesitated. What if she didn't know? What if she was important to the Russian? Should he act on a whim of his anger? But why not? Yassen meant nothing to him; he had almost killed him less than 24 hours ago. What did he care if his words had consequences for the assassin?

"Do you know that- that Yassen is... a contract killer?"

Katarina raised her eyebrows, her hand falling off his arm and Alex couldn't help it as regret turned his stomach. God, why did he have to have a conscience?

And then she laughed again, loud and booming and for a moment he thought she didn't believe him.

"Of course I do! And he's the best too! I'm very proud of him," she smiled widely as Alex looked at her, wondering if she was making fun of him.

"Come to think of it," Katarina eyed him curiously, now tapping a finger against her chin. "I've been wondering why he keeps you around." Her gaze turned inquiring and she packed up the first aid kit after securing the bandages.

It was the question he had dreaded the most and Alex had hoped that Yassen had told her some flimsy tale... but obviously he hadn't.

"I mean, to be honest, if you were just a little older I'd have gone straight for lover."

Alex flushed and ducked his head when he saw Katarina's eyes grow wide.

"You two really did get it on, didn't you?"

If possible, he turned even redder. "We did _not_!"

A playful smile flickered over her lips. "Of course you didn't."

"We really, absolutely didn't," he repeated for good measure. The memories of the tunnel incident had rushed back the second Katarina had suggested he was Yassen's lover and he wished he could stop blushing, but it was impossible; not while he couldn't stop himself from remembering what it had felt like to be kissed by the assassin, touched and-

_Stop it! _

Alex felt disgusted with himself, loathing the fact that his feelings about the Russian where so contradictory.

"What a pity," Katarina sighed with honest disappointment and pursed her lips. "Oh, well. Doesn't mean that the two of you couldn't still-"

"I'm _fifteen_!" Shaking his head, Alex looked incredulous. "He's old enough to be my father for god's sake!" The truth of his own words made him cringe and realise for the umpteenth time that he must've been insane to-

_Don't think about it. _

Alex pointedly avoided meeting her eyes, his face still feeling hot, but he could only pretend for so long that the tea was fascinating him. This shouldn't embarrass him. Heck, he shouldn't even be so conflicted about things concerning Yassen! The guy was a contract killer; he had no scruples, probably no conscience either. Yassen had killed Ian, he'd nearly killed Alex hardly a day ago. If anything, Alex should hate his guts.

But instead, his thoughts about the assassin were just going round in circles. It was frustrating to say the least.

"Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him," Katarina said as if reading his thoughts and interrupted his pointless reflection.

Alex looked up, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "What?"

"Dostoevsky," she clarified and got up. "You shouldn't divide the world into black and white. There are always shades of grey, Alex. Always." Katarina smiled warmly and walked over to the bar. "But then again, who am I to talk? I hardly know anything about Yassen's life these days."

Alex touched his arm, involuntarily contemplating her words while wishing she'd stop talk. He really didn't need to be lectured about the complexity of people's personalities. In fact, sometimes he wished he still could divide the world into black and white. It would make so many things so much easier.

"Today he's in Moscow and tomorrow he might already be in New Delhi or Bogotá or somewhere else on the other side of the world," Katarina carried on. She vanished for a moment behind the bar, putting the first aid kit away before re-emerging. "As a matter of fact," she gave Alex a contemplative glance and he shifted nervously. There was a mischievous expression in her eyes that never really left and it made it difficult to guess whether she was about to say something, for Alex horribly embarrassing the next moment or not.

"I've never seen Yassen with anyone before. Not unless it was work related. But he never tells me what he's working on, either. For my own safety, I suppose. Really, Alex, I find you quite intriguing. I'd be curious to hear about your connection to Yassen."

Not a_gain_. Couldn't a hole just open up and swallow him already?

The teen fidgeted, shrugging. He'd better come up with something and fast. "I'm... just a kid whose uncle he killed," he winced at his own words. Talking about it opened old wounds. It reminded him of his hatred for the contract killer and how he'd sworn to kill Yassen for revenge. He thought of how close he'd come to kill Yassen on the Fer de Lance, how he'd been seconds away from ending another person's life. In retrospect, he was shocked by what he'd become for just a few minutes.

Alex knew that he'd never forgive Yassen for taking Ian away from him. But he didn't think that he still wanted the assassin's death. It would make him the same as the Russian, wouldn't it?

"I'm here in Moscow on holiday with my... parents and I saw him in the streets," he went on aimlessly. "I guess I followed him because I wanted revenge for my uncle. I know he could've killed me but..." drifting off, Alex shrugged again and picked up Aleksander's white scarf, wrapping it around his neck again. The soft fabric felt nice against his sore skin.

Katarina was smiling as she came back over, making the teen doubt that she believed even a word of what he'd said. She folded her arms and eyed him intently before shaking her head and chuckled. "That was one half-assed story, darling. Makes me wonder if you're trying to insult my intelligence."

Alex wanted to protest but she waved him off.

"Whatever it is, I suppose you have your reasons," Katarina paused and tapped her index finger against her chin. It seemed to be a characteristic mannerism of hers. "But he did kill your uncle, didn't he?"

It felt as if ice cubes had dropped into his stomach, Alex nodded. "He did."

Katarina frowned, a distant expression on her face as she muttered a quiet: "Interesting."

- Y/A - Y/A -

"You look very bitter when it comes to Yassen," Katarina noted, craning her neck to be able to see over the heads of other people around them.

They'd left the brothel after Katarina had finished patching Alex up. She'd insisted on taking him back to one of the main streets and although he'd tried to protest at first, he was now secretly grateful to have a companion. Hopefully Meshov's thugs wouldn't get any ideas that way, in case they were still around.

"Oh, do I?" Alex muttered to himself, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

But Katarina had heard him and turned around; there was a warm, almost sympathetic expression in her eyes as she looked at him. "He never talks much about himself."

Alex raised an eyebrow at her, thinking how Yassen never talked very much in general, period, but kept that to himself. He didn't want to be rude and Katarina had nothing to do with the differences between him and the assassin.

In less than an hour Moscow had come back to life, and even though the noise level hadn't quite reached yesterday's scale yet, the streets were already crowded beyond their capacity. The sun stood high over the Red Square, melting the ice on the pavement and chasing away the cold of the night.

It was hard to keep track of things when there were so many people around them, but Alex tried to watch his back as well as possible and he hadn't noticed anything suspicious so far. Sometimes he thought all the work for MI6 was making him paranoid; but then it wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get him, was it?

"Maybe I should tell you a few things about Yassen," Katarina mused.

Alex was about to retort something like 'No need, thanks' when she raised her arm and stopped what seemed like a random car that had come into their direction.

The driver of the black Mercedes S600 jumped out and came around the car, greeting Katarina enthusiastically as they shook hands and exchanged, Alex guessed, a few pleasantries before he gestured towards the Mercedes. Katarina nodded.

"C'mon," she held a hand out. "That's our ride."

"But-" the teen frowned, confused. He had planned to get a taxi and go to Belorussky Rail Terminal to meet up with Anthony. Almost two hours had passed since they'd split up and his partner was probably already worried about where he was. "I need to-"

"I know," Katarina interrupted and smiled. "You'll get there. But first let's take a short ride together and I'll tell you something you should probably know."

Tell him something about what? Yassen? He wasn't interested.

Alex bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at his watch: 8.16 am. _I should go to the station. Anthony is waiting. _"I don't know, I…" he trailed off, undecided, but before he could make a decision Katarina had grabbed his arm and pushed him gently to the already open car door.

He started to turn towards her, taken aback by her insistence. "Wait! Really, I should-"

"And I said: you'll get there!" She laughed and gave him another shove.

Alex stumbled forwards and barely managed to brace himself against the car before grudgingly complying and climbing into the Mercedes. Any chance to change his mind at the last minute was taken when Katarina followed right behind him and for a moment Alex doubted whether there was enough space in the back for her dress.

Apparently having caught the teen's dubious look, she laughed again and pulled the door shut. "I'm not trying to kidnap you."

_Is that right? _He bit back the comment and looked out of the window as the car moved off, reaching for the seat belt and buckled it. This day was getting better by the second.

Katarina called out for the driver and a window rolled up between them and the front.

Quirking an eyebrow, Alex glanced at Katarina who smiled back sweetly.

"Just trying to ensure our privacy," she explained and leaned back with a small sigh, looking satisfied with herself.

"Hmm."

Katarina eyed him amusedly. "You know, with that attitude you really remind me of Yassen."

Alex gritted his teeth at the small twinge of anger. "Stop comparing me to a ruthless murderer," he snapped harsher than he'd meant to and added a quite: "Sorry."

They were both quiet for a few minutes and Alex couldn't help wondering whether he'd offended her. He hadn't meant to be rude, but Yassen was a touchy topic and it had started to grate on his nerves. Why couldn't they just talk about the weather? It was so nice outside, he thought wryly.

"He'd never argue the fact, you know?" Katarina said eventually.

Alex frowned at her, unsure what she was referring to.

"That he's a ruthless murderer. Yassen, I mean."

Oh yeah, that'd really take the damn biscuit! Imagining that the assassin might think that he was working for a greater good or something. Alex had to hold back a snort. "I'm not gonna congratulate him on his accurate self-reflection."

Looking down at his hands in his lap, Alex felt himself relax a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to go back to resenting Yassen for killing Ian after all. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the conflict inside of him. _Maybe I can just push it away..._

To his confusion, Katarina chuckled and shook her head slightly. "Serves him right, I suppose."

"What?"

"Being stuck with a difficult little brat like you, of course."

"Thanks," Alex scoffed, still not quite sure what in the world she was talking about.

"Do you know..." Katarina trailed off, a thoughtful expression on her face as she rubbed over one of her many rings. She turned towards him. "That he's only ever once hesitated to kill someone?"

_I don't like where this is going. _Alex didn't reply.

"Was about a year ago," she went on. "He'd just come back from a job in England."

The car moved slowly through the morning rush hour, a steady stop and go.

"I was surprised when he started talking about it. He said that he'd met someone -- the first person he'd ever hesitated to kill. To tell the truth, I wasn't half as shocked as I probably should have been." Katarina laughed quietly. "It turned out to be a teenage boy, but it wasn't until he mentioned the name 'Hunter' that I understood why he was so troubled about the whole affair. Yassen hadn't spoken of Hunter in years; in fact, the subject had been closed off ever since the man had died fifteen years ago."

Despite not wanting to, Alex found himself drawn in by her story and the mention of his father's codename with Scorpia made his stomach clench. It wasn't difficult to guess that Katarina was talking about him. About the Stormbreaker mission and the first time he'd met Yassen on the helipad in London. He just wondered if she knew as well.

"Who's Hunter?" Alex asked, his own voice sounding foreign to him. How much would she know about his father? How much had Yassen told her about John Rider? He could feel Katarina looking at him but didn't meet her gaze. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on his hands and played with Aleksander's scarf from time to time.

"He was probably the closest thing to a father Yassen ever had after his real father died."

Alex gripped the scarf harder for a second, but forced himself to let go again.

"He trained Yassen. I could go out on a limb and say he's probably one of the world's greatest assassins because of Hunter. Of course, he never told me the guy's real name or any specifics, but back then he was just a child. Nineteen years, and wasn't able to hide his emotions as well as he does today. His face would always tell me what he really thought, and I knew Hunter was important to him. He admired the man. They were always together on their missions all over the world and I was glad Yassen had someone like him. Because becoming a killer changed him." Katarina sighed heavily and she seemed lost in her own thoughts for a moment.

It was then that Alex realised that she probably loved Yassen as much as any mother would her real son. Until now he'd only ever associated the assassin with death and fear; people had talked about him with hatred or horror in their voices. He'd never seen the Russian as a real person with people that might love him and that were important to him too. It was a strange thing to think about. He remembered Yassen talking about his father on the Air Force One just before his supposed death. '_In a way, I loved him._'

There was a bitter taste in his mouth at the memory. The man who had killed his uncle, who murdered people for money, who had spared his own life so many times, had known his father better than he ever would. He had fought with him, laughed with him and spent so much time with him. Time that Alex would never have. It wasn't fair, but it would be irrational to blame Yassen for it.

If nothing else, at least Yassen had nothing to do with his father's death.

"Are you still with me, darling?" Katarina nudged him gently.

Alex flinched, startled and looked up. "I-" he cleared his throat and tried an apologetic smile, but his face felt strangely numb. "Yeah, sorry."

Katarina eyed him for a moment before she continued; her voice slightly heavier. "Well, after one mission I didn't hear from Yassen for almost a year," she turned to the window. "And when he returned he said Hunter was dead and that he didn't want to talk about it... There was nothing I could do."

A lump was stuck in Alex' throat that he couldn't swallow and he stared down at his lap again. He didn't want to be insensitive after what Katarina had told him, he didn't even think that he could be, but... something inside of him still wanted to give a calloused remark. Why would he care about what happened to Yassen? Did _he _care when he killed other people? Destroyed families?

Alex had no idea about the extent of atrocities the Russian had committed in his life, but what he did know was that somebody like that didn't deserve to receive understanding or comfort. Or anything remotely heartfelt.

So why couldn't he help the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach?

Katarina caught herself and shook her head, laughing a little. "Depressing, нет? Ah, I hate stories without a Happy Ending. Well, let's get back to the boy Yassen couldn't kill, shall we?"

It was a rhetorical question but Alex nodded.

They'd long left the Red Square and the Kremlin behind them and were now heading to what looked like a suburban area. High-rise office buildings and shopping malls had given way to endless rows or houses and apartment blocks.

"The boy was Hunter's son," Katarina shrugged as if that should've been obvious. "I still call it fate but, of course, Yassen would hear nothing of it. He said he never knew Hunter had a child, or even a family. Apparently, the boy was the spitting image of his father. He told me how much alike they'd been."

Alex could remember that the assassin had told him the same thing and he knew from photos of his father that it was true. Only that his father had had brown hair and he had blond, like his mother.

"He also told me that the boy had got involved with the job he'd been on at the time and that he should have killed him. But he couldn't." She smiled to herself. "He'd have done anything to save Hunter's life. What a cruel joke would it have been to look into the same face and thank Hunter for all he'd done by killing his son? Don't you think, Alex?"

"I- Yeah, I... guess," he stuttered, taken off guard by her direct question. He fidgeted uncomfortably, wanting to avoid her scrutiny because he didn't know how much his expression would betray at the moment.

So Yassen felt indebted to his father, and that was why he hadn't killed him?

The car came to a halt and he looked out of the window.

They had reached some kind of residential district somewhere on the outskirts of Moscow and when Alex glanced at his watch, he was surprised to see that it had taken them almost half an hour. It hadn't felt that long.

The window to the front had rolled back down and Katarina handed the driver something Alex couldn't see before she swung the door open and looked expectantly at him. "That's our stop. Let's go."

"You said-"

"I know," she smiled and got out. "C'mon.

Alex wanted to argue, but she'd already stepped away from the car and so he followed reluctantly, doubting whether the driver would take him to Belorussky Rail Terminal if he was indeed specifically hired by Katarina. Besides, during his short time in Moscow he'd noticed how very few people were able to speak intelligible English and somehow their driver didn't strike him as one of them.

"Where are we?" He scowled at her, folding his arms and wincing when his injury gave a protesting twinge. He'd stopped on the pavement, unwilling to let himself be dragged off anywhere. It was his first time in the city and of course he had no idea where Katarina had taken them or why they were even here.

The Mercedes drove off behind them.

"I want you to talk to someone," Katarina replied mysteriously.

But Alex wasn't having it. "Who?"

Before she could answer though, her phone started ringing and Alex watched as she rummaged through her handbag, answering the call when she finally found the mobile.

"Алло?" Katarina gestured for him to come along as she turned around and strode off.

Huffing, Alex considered just staying where he was but with his poor Russian, he'd probably never make it back to the city centre without Katarina, let alone the train station.

_Great. Just great._

He swore to never set foot onto Russian ground again until he'd learned to speak the godforsaken language. And since that was never going to happen, he was very much looking forward to leaving for London in hopefully less than a day.

So in the end Alex found himself trotting after Katarina once more.

They walked down a broad stone way that led straight to several apartment blocks. Everything was very clean and in light colours; the plants on the lawn framing the way were well cared for and there were small pathways leading off to each building.

The whole complex looked brand new and Alex guessed that half the area must have been finished just recently. Probably a very expensive place to live in.

They turned into one of the pathways that brought them to the fourth apartment block on their right and Alex noticed the little balconies that were attached to every other window. Compared to all the grey and dreary blocks of flats they'd passed on their way, this area seemed like a whole nother world. It reminded him of the rich neighbourhoods that he'd seen in many American cities.

Alex flinched as the pain in his knees from falling earlier made itself known again and he glowered at Katarina's back who was still talking cheerfully into her phone.

Katarina stopped in front of the third door of the building and Alex saw a little panel with bell buttons. Some of the signs next to them had only numbers, while a few had names, but it didn't matter either way because he couldn't read anything.

He saw her pressing the button for number ten that didn't have a name and the teen hoped somebody would answer the intercom to give him an idea who he was going to meet but the door buzzed a moment later and they stepped into a huge entrance hall.

Alex was starting to grow nervous. Whoever they were going to see knew they were coming.

The floor of the entrance hall was made of white marble, the walls were bare and there were little lights integrated into the floor. Looking around as they walked up to the elevator, Alex noticed that there were three of them on the left hand side of the hall and post boxes maybe out of chrome on the opposite wall.

Katarina finally finished her phone call as they stepped into the elevator and Alex glared a little, which only made her smile in return. "Don't look at me like that," she nudged him in the side and pointed up.

Following her gesture, he was surprised to see that the ceiling was made of glass and there were flashing and glittering lights behind it. Despite being slightly disgruntled, he had to admit that it was really beautiful.

"Nice, hmm?"

Alex nodded.

Less than thirty seconds later, they'd already reached the topmost level and the elevator doors opened with a quiet sound. A short hall stretched before them.

Katarina walked ahead, the rustling of her dress the only sound. Before he knew it they'd stopped in front of a door that bore the number ten in silver letters. "You're not afraid, are you?" she teased, apparently having noticed Alex wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers.

"I'm not," he replied petulantly. Really, whoever he was going to meet here, it couldn't be worth getting all worked up like this. "Why can't you just-"

Alex paused when the door opened, his eyes widening and he thought his heart would stop as he stared at Yassen Gregorovich standing in the doorframe

_Oh god, I should've known._

_

* * *

_

Please let me know what you think! ^_^

- there were no Russian lines this time only: Алло, which means "Hello" for all those who can't read the cyrillic letters. :)

Senseless rambling follows:

This story is really starting to take over my life. XD I'm even listening to Russian music now which I found very weird until recently and now I'm loving it. Seriously, there are so great songs out there. And for anybody who's curious there'll, of course, be a continuation of the story after the Moscow Arc is over. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author: **RikkuRiddle

**Title:** Moscow

**Disclaimer**: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

**Rating**: M (Jup, the rating went up for that chapter. XD)

**Warnings:** male/male, language, violence, blood, death

**Spoiler: **(potentially all AR books)

**Author's comment**: I know this update took ages. . And I'm really sorry for that but it was the end of the semester and all my exams + learning for them kept me busy. I was too scared to take some time off in between to write. So, I had to wait until it was over.

I hope to update once a month from now on. Cause I'm writing other AR stuff (that happens later in the storyline) too, and while I want to keep updating 'Moscow' I really also want to get on with the whole plot. And since I'm going to post all of that in good time, I'm sure/hope you won't mind too much. XD

Other than that: Thanks to **Anne Phoenix **and **Shiruy** for betaing! (**Shi**, I know you need a longer thank-you note for all the awesome stuff you do to help me with my story and my constant pestering of proof-reading every damn paragraph I just wrote! XD Buuut, you also get to read the whole story before everybody else AND so much background knowledge and let's not forget all the things that happen waaaay later. *hugs*)

Also **THANKS SOOOO MUCH!** To all your lovely comments. ;_; Gosh, can you believe how many comments I got for the last chapter! I wanted to cry! XD I was super happy! Thanks to you all, you don't know how happy it makes me that you like the story!

**Research: **Okay, people, I SWEAR I meant to do more research on that sound a gun makes when a silencer/suppressor is attached. But then I was immersed in the whole field of subsonic and supersonic bullets, the ballistic crack or "sonic boom" and, yeah…. My friend told me I should stop, cause otherwise I would've gone off becoming an expert in the field and it would've taken me another month to finish that chapter. XD

So, sorry to all you weapons experts if I got it wrong. I'll probably go back at some point and correct this part of the chapter. Hopefully, after I've been too the shooting range instead of just reading stuff. My dad wanted to take me and I CANNOT wait…*so excited* Anyways… sorry for the useless ramble.

Finally now, enjoy! ^_^

* * *

_Oh god, I should've known._

Petrified, Alex couldn't obey his body's instinctive reaction to recoil as he found himself rendered completely immobile with shock. A new surge of adrenaline crashed down on him and for a moment he contemplated whether it was true that people could get addicted to that 'kick' and the exhilaration that followed after. He'd become so used to these situations of hyper-awareness, the way his thinking narrowed down to the simple task of staying alive. Since the party last night, he'd hardly had time to sit down and take stock of his situation.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he stared at Yassen and there was an unexpected flicker of disbelief in the Russian's eyes as he looked back at him. Somehow, Alex expected to be seized any second.

_He could kill me. Right here, right now and I wouldn't even be able to move a finger. _

The frightening train of thought made him feel light-headed and his knees trembled. Blood was rushing in his ears and he couldn't understand a word of what the assassin was saying. But Yassen wasn't talking to him.

He dared to glance at Katarina next to him and watched the ensuing argument between them. They were speaking in Russian.

"Что за чёрт? Ты с ума сошла, женщина?"

Alex flinched at the assassin's harsh words even though they held no meaning to him. The unrestrained display of anger on Yassen's face took him by surprise – he'd never seen the Russian so… expressive.

This was bad. However close the relationship between Katarina and Yassen was, he'd obviously not expected her to bring _Alex_. Maybe he had a chance of reaching the lift while the assassin's attention was still focused on Katarina. It was worth a try…

Almost imperceptibly, Alex moved his left foot back a few centimetres. If he could whirl around and dash over, Katarina would be in Yassen's way. The doors to the lift were still open. How fast would they close after he'd pushed the button? Wasn't there a staircase? What if the Russian had a gun?

His eyes landed on the assassin again as he took in his appearance, the dark blue t-shirt and black sweatpants; his bare feet and the towel around his neck that Alex hadn't noticed before made him stop. He'd just… got out of the shower? That would also explain why he hadn't checked who was at the door before opening up. Apparently he'd trusted Katarina enough not to… bring a surprise.

Alex deemed it unlikely that Yassen might have a gun tugged into the waistband of those sweatpants but he couldn't put it beyond him.

He'd only been involved in the whole spy-assassin business for a year and the paranoia that would overcome him now and again was already maddening, no doubt the Russian would take it to a whole other level. If his situation hadn't been so serious, Alex would have snorted.

The lift. Alex clenched his fists, coming back to his original intent and trying to calm his breathing. Yassen wasn't looking at him. _I can do it. It's not that far. _

But he was wrong.

In fact, he didn't even manage to bring his body the whole way around. His first step towards the lift was cut short as his left upper arm was caught in an iron grip that made him yelp, the pressure on his graze wound sending a sharp pain through his arm.

And suddenly Yassen was very close behind him, warm breath tickling his ear. "I don't think so."

The underlying warning in the Russian's voice, the dangerous edge to it and the fingers curling tighter around his upper arm, making him wince, gave Alex goose bumps. His heart was racing again.

"Yassen, really!" Katarina stepped up to them, her face worried and she reached out to pull the assassin's hand away from him, but something made her falter mid-motion and she withdrew again. "This is ridiculous," she exclaimed, though her voice was a little uncertain now as she gave Alex a confused look. "I'm sure there's no need for you to-"

Yassen cut across her, talking in Russian again and Alex saw her narrowing her eyes, throwing him another glance. "Я не понимаю. Что…?" Katarina trailed off when the assassin spoke again before turning to Alex, her expression apologetic.

He didn't like where this was going. What were they talking about?

"I think you're wrong," she said to the Russian and shook her head. Not taking her eyes off Alex, she walked over to the lift, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry, Alex."

He struggled against Yassen's hold but it was useless and the pain in his arm as the assassin tugged him back to the door made him involuntarily follow the Russian, if only to keep the strain on his wound to a minimum. "Let go of me."

Behind them the doors to the lift swished shut and bitter realisation turned his stomach. He bit his lip, using his free hand to push against Yassen's shoulder with little result. Panic was creeping up on him and it was all he could do to refrain from begging the assassin to spare his life.

The Russian pushed him into the flat and he stumbled, immediately cradling his injured arm as he backed up, watching as Yassen slammed the door shut. The loud bang, full of dark promises made him jump and back up further when the assassin rounded in on him.

He was cornered, in a flat alone with the Russian. His chances of survival by jumping out of the window on the tenth floor were probably higher than if he stayed where he was.

"I swear if anything happens to her, you and your friends will be very sorry."

Alex froze. "Wha- what?"

Oh god, bad mistake. Before he knew it, Yassen had closed the last bit of distance between them and hauled him around, grabbing both of his arms and wrenching them up behind his back. Alex cried out in pain and shock and doubled over as much as possible with the assassin holding him.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to concentrate on anything but the acute, throbbing ache that started in his left upper arm and seemed to pulse through the rest of his body. What did the Russian mean? His friends... MI6 had no idea where he was!

"I can rip your clothes off or you can tell me where the bug is. What is it going to be?" Yassen hissed dangerously.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about!" Alex exclaimed, horrified, and made the futile attempt to wriggle out of the assassin's hold. What bug? What the-

"Fine."

The Russian touched his left wrist, his fingers curling slightly under the strap of his watch and suddenly he ripped it off, yanking Alex' arm back in the process. It felt as if the force of it would dislocate his shoulder and he cried out again, his voice cracking. He fell forward when Yassen let go of him and managed to turn around, hastily moving away from the man.

His wrist was bleeding from where the strap had cut into his skin and he was starting to shake from pain and fear, his breathing so erratic it changed all the time; it was fast and shallow until he forced himself to take a deep breath but his nerves were getting the better of him.

Alex saw the assassin examine the watch before he let it drop to the ground and stepped on it; it broke with a dull crack and Yassen's eyes returned to him. A cold smile twisted his lips. "Looks like you were lucky."

All colour had drained from Alex' face as it slowly dawned on him what was being played here. Had this whole mission been a set-up? Had MI6 known from the start that the Russian was involved in whatever was going on in Moscow? Was that why they'd sent him in? To get to Yassen? But why, that was-

The tunnel.

_He saved my life. So they thought... _

No, Alex wanted to argue. This was all wrong. "I had no idea..." he said quietly. "I swear, I-"

His legs wouldn't obey him even as the assassin came closer again. The realisation of in just how much trouble he was practically paralysed him. _He must think I convinced Katarina to take me here. That I knew about the bug that I was deliberately trying to get to him. _

And it all made sense. Only that it wasn't true...

He'd never seen the Russian's face so cold, so completely devoid of all emotion. His eyes were like chips of ice, boring into him and the tension in his body showed that he'd probably kill Alex if he so much as twitched.

"Of course you did not," Yassen sneered as he came to a halt in front of Alex, towering over him.

He still couldn't move. He couldn't even speak.

"Tell me, how did you convince them to keep you on the mission after I nearly strangled you?" His gaze had dropped down to Alex' neck, around which Aleksander's scarf was still wrapped.

Strang-

Alex' eyes widened._ He did that to get me off the mission? _"I didn't... tell them."The moment the words were out, he knew he'd made a mistake.

"I see." The assassin's lips quirked up just a little.

"But I didn't do it so they would keep me on the mission!" He added hastily, doubting that it would have any effect at all. "I didn't know they'd set me up to-"

The gun that was suddenly pointing at his chest made him stop.

"No." Alex shook his head, staring at the muzzle and took a few steps back, coldness crawling up his back and through his limbs. He began to shake again and flinched when he bumped into a wall. "Please don't. I swear I had no idea that they- I wouldn't..."

"That is what they all say, Alex." Yassen's face was a mask.

"No! I- I didn't..." But he couldn't think of anything to say that would miraculously turn this whole situation around. It was all wrong. Sweat was trickling down his nape and his fingers felt numb. The gun that was still trained at him was like a time bomb that could go off any second and he had no means of stopping it.

The helplessness, together with the Russian's unforgiving, cold gaze was tearing down the last bits of composure he'd still managed to hold onto until now. _I don't want to die. _

Pressing back against the wall, Alex shook his head again. There had to be _something_. Wasn't there anything he could do? Why wouldn't the assassin listen? "Please don't kill me," he said in a choked whisper, his eyes flickering between the gun and Yassen's face.

He didn't care anymore. He would beg, he would get down on his knees and cry. Anything, as long as the Russian would take pity on him and spare his life.

The assassin made a low hushing noise. "Relax."

"No." Alex bit his tongue, his vision becoming blurry. "No, please..."

"Close your eyes, Alex. It will be okay."

Things were escalating. He could practically feel it just from the way Yassen was looking at him. And what the hell was the Russian even talking about? Did he really expect him to keep quiet and-

_I've already survived too many things that should've killed me. _If he really was going to die what was there to regret? _I'm not going to give up, not- not that easily. _Clutching at the wall, he blinked his tears away. "You don't want to kill me. Katarina told me-"

"Alex." The assassin said in warning.

"She told me you couldn't!" He was clutching at straws and he knew it. What if Yassen had changed his mind about all these things? But it didn't matter; he would do whatever it took to stay alive. It was strange; fighting for his life had always been an instinct, a logical reaction. Nobody would just sit and let it happen, would they? But now... he refused to accept death because of a goddamn set-up! Because of all the distrust and suspicion. Because nobody would believe him in this world if all he could do was talk about his innocence. "I know you don't want to kill me! You saved my life before, why-"

The Russian grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, pushing him up against the wall, the gun digging into his lower back. "Shut up," he snarled threateningly, holding Alex in place with one leg shoved between his thighs and his still free hand pressing against Alex' nape.

He paid no heed to Yassen's words. "Please..." His injured arm hurt terribly and he was sure the Russian could hear his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alex clenched his eyes shut for a second. "Please, don't kill me," he sounded scared. "I- I'll do whatever you want. Just don't..."

That made the assassin pause. The gun eased off a little and a moment later he heard Yassen chuckle. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it!" Alex swallowed, his legs were still shaking and he tried to clamp down on the tiny spark of hope. The Russian was unpredictable. He wouldn't be safe until he was out of the building and as far away from the man as possible. "What- whatever you want. I- Just... Please don't kill me." Things started to turn surreal. What was he doing? What did he even _mean_?

What could he possibly offer Yassen that would make him change his mind and decide not to kill him? He turned up blank. He was just a 15-year-old boy, a nuisance to the Russian at best. _I don't care... I have to try. _

The feeling of Yassen's hand brushing over his bum made him jump and turn his head but he couldn't see the man's face. "What...?"

He could hear the assassin chuckle again and the touch grew more pronounced until that hand squeezed and-

Alex' breath caught and his cheeks grew hot. _Wha- what? _

The Russian leaned in, taking the gun away and Alex went rigid as hot breath fanned over his ear and nape, giving him goose bumps. "Some advice for the future: do not make promises you are not prepared to keep. Some people may take you up on it."

Alex' head was spinning. Advice for the future? Did that mean he wasn't going to die after all? And what was Yassen doing grabbing his bum? The thought made him blush even harder as memories of events from two months ago flickered through his mind. _Oh god, does he think I offered...? _

A dull bang from the ceiling drew the attention of both of them.

The assassin said something, but it was too low for him to understand as if he was swearing under his breath, probably in Russian too. Before he knew it, Yassen had pulled his arms behind his back, ignoring Alex' pained hiss, and dragged him into the next room. The gun was pressing against his back again.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly, not daring to struggle anymore.

Instead of getting an answer, the Russian threw him onto the bed, face first and when he brought his hands up to cushion his fall, cold metal was pushing at his nape. "Move and I will kill you."

Alex swallowed, trying to look over his shoulder but did nothing to aggravate Yassen otherwise. He couldn't see what the assassin was doing. A long zipper was pulled open and there was a short moment of what sounded as if the Russian was rifling through a bag.

Then his arms were yanked back again and Alex gritted his teeth as hard as he could. There was nothing he could do as rope was wound around his wrists and then he was pulled to his feet, brought back into what looked like the living room. The same room they'd been in just a minute before. He wanted to know what was going to happen to him but was too afraid to ask again.

"Sit down," Yassen ordered curtly, gesturing with the gun.

Alex tried to, but it was awkward and difficult with his hands tied behind his back. Next to him was a heater and he could guess what the assassin had in mind; sure enough, just a second later, handcuffs clicked and when he tugged slightly, there was a dull clank from the metal of the handcuffs against the pipe of the heater.

The Russian had crouched down in front of him, tying his legs together as well and a small part of him wanted to kick out, but the gun was lying on the floor beside Yassen. Making that move would be petulant _and _incredibly stupid to say the least. So he sat still, watching as the assassin finished and stood up, eyeing him contemplatively.

He vanished into the adjacent room and re-emerged a moment later with a roll of duct tape in his hand. Once again, Alex felt like protesting but bit his tongue eventually, only giving the Russian a baleful glare as he pulled the tape across his mouth.

"For your own safety," Yassen said, the corners of his lips quirking up ever so slightly; there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "We know how easily you always get into trouble."

The assassin got to his feet, looking Alex over once more before walking off to the entrance, gun in hand. It wasn't until now that Alex noticed that the Russian had attached a silencer to the muzzle and suddenly it dawned on him what was happening outside.

If he'd been carrying a bug, then he'd led MI6 straight to Yassen's place.

"I will deal with you later," the Russian promised and gave him a last glance.

Ignoring the brief surge of anxiety as the door fell shut, Alex immediately scanned the room. It was furnished to the bare minimum, with a black leather couch and two matched armchairs and in the middle sat a small glass table. To his right was a passage to the kitchen that seemed fully equipped from what he could see. Other than that there was only a cabinet with glass doors that stood against the wall right next to him. Left from the heater were two ceiling-to-floor sliding doors that led out to the balcony. The floor was made of parquet.

He kept looking around while rattling the handcuffs, desperately searching for a way out. How long would it take Yassen to come back? Would he even come back?

Alex considered. They'd captured the Russian once and he'd escaped, they probably weren't going to take any chances this time. So how many men would MI6 have sent to take out the assassin? And was that even their task? Killing Yassen? Or would they want to get him alive?

It didn't matter. He couldn't sit around, waiting for somebody to come and rescue him. What if the Russian managed to kill them all? No, if he had any say in it, he certainly wouldn't stick around.

Shifting on the floor, Alex tried moving his legs; the rope was too tight to wriggle free but that didn't surprise him. It was the same with his wrists. And there was nothing in close proximity that he could use to-

He paused and eyed the cabinet. It was empty. There was _nothing _in this damn flat that would-

No. No, he couldn't think like that. Fighting down the rising fear again, Alex forced himself to calm down, resisting the urge to just yank madly at his manacles. It wouldn't do any good. He'd only hurt himself more and his arm already felt like it was on fire.

The cabinet. He looked at it again. It was the only thing in reach. And suddenly he had an idea. Pulling himself away from the heater with his feet, he leaned down on his arms behind his back, instantly being rewarding with another excruciating jab of pain shooting up his arm and through the rest of his body.

Alex gritted his teeth and pulled himself a little further away from the heater, as far as the ropes would allow before lifting his feet up and bracing them against the cabinet. He could even bend his knees. It was close enough for him to gain enough momentum and-

Pulling his legs up, he rolled back as far as he could before rocking forth and slamming his feet against the glass doors of the cabinet. It didn't break yet, but there was an ominous crack and Alex knew it wouldn't take much more. He repeated the motion, rolling back and using the momentum to kick against the cabinet. This time he could already see the long, white cracks running through the glass from where his feet had impacted with it.

On the third try the doors burst and he clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away.

Catching his breath, Alex blinked and looked at the shards lying around everywhere. Carefully he shifted into a sitting position and searched the ground for a relatively big piece of glass. He pushed his feet out as soon as he found one and pulled it closer with them, twisting to his side and trying to lift himself up a little, so he could get the shard close enough to his hands to grab it.

There was a dull noise from outside that made him flinch and stop, his eyes fixed on the door for a few tense seconds. His heart was hammering as he stared at the doorknob as if willing it not to move.

Nothing happened.

Alex turned back to his task at hand and finally succeeded, by half rolling onto his side and bringing his feet up as close to his bum as possible that he could grab the shard. The handcuffs also gave him a few centimetres of leeway, enough to reach down and take the shard.

Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes for a moment as he fumbled blindly with the little glass fragment behind his back and hissed as it cut into his fingers. The throbbing in his arm was worse than ever and he started to lose feeling in his fingers of his left hand. _Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter, I can still do it. _He pushed another wave of fear away, concentrating on cutting through the ropes with the shard instead.

It was a slow process and half the time he felt as if he was cutting into his fingers more often than into the robe. The blood made everything slippery and the piece of glass slipped from his hands again and again but he remained determined.

Fortunately, Yassen had attached the handcuffs only to the rope and not to one of his wrists, otherwise he really wouldn't have been able to out of this without cutting off his hand or something. And he'd rather not consider that option.

Hours seemed to pass before he finally felt the ropes fall away. Dropping the shard, he looked at his bloody hands and the abrasion on his wrists before bending down to untie his legs. It took too long and his patience was running out. The knots were horribly complicated and the cords twisted together and around and-

"Damnit," cursing lowly, Alex grabbed the shard again and cut through his bonds instead. He jumped up as soon as he was free and looked around, for a moment contemplating whether he should search for a weapon. Surely Yassen would have another gun, maybe in the bag in the bedroom. But he decided against it. He didn't plan on getting himself into some sort of shoot-out and apart from that he was just too scared to stick around any longer.

He made his way over to the door, squinted into the peephole before he opened it and stared out into the empty corridor. There was no sound. His first thought was the lift but as soon as he'd turned to it, his attention was caught by a small red light and a little panel next to it with Russian writing.

Hurrying over, he pushed a few buttons, but when nothing happened, his suspicion of what that little panel said was confirmed: Out of order.

Great.

There had to be another way down. Alex went to the other side of the corridor and found a small hallway at the end of it that led off to the left. Walking to its end, he pushed the glass door open after checking whether somebody was coming.

A second later, he found himself in the stairwell and staggered back, clapping his hand over his nose at the sudden smell of blood. Leaning over the handrail, he was prepared to see several dead bodies but there was nothing. Alex swallowed, breathing through his mouth as he climbed down the first set of stairs slowly, careful not to make any noise.

As he descended, the smell in the air grew stronger and he suddenly had to think of Blunt. Had the man, even for a moment, considered the consequences of Yassen finding out about the bug? Anger was bubbling up inside of him. Yes, he most likely had and not given a damn.

The Russian wasn't stupid. He'd undoubtedly expected a transparent move like this after he'd just saved Alex's life. But he felt angry at himself too. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? It should've occurred to him the second he'd seen Yassen on the streets. If anything, meeting the assassin was _never _a coincidence.

He remembered Blunt's words about how he was only to serve as cover and that it would probably be the last mission they'd sent him on too after the Prime Minister had got wind of everything while Alex had been kidnapped and brought to Kenya, and the whole business with Desmond McCain. Apparently there had been quite a few investigations. But most of the things had probably been hushed up and as long as there wasn't some political scandal about how MI6 was using a teenage boy to do their dirty work nobody really cared.

_My last mission. _

Alex smiled grimly at the irony.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when he saw a figure lying at the bottom of the second flight of stairs and Alex felt his heartbeat accelerating almost instantly. _Yassen? _

He took a few more steps, noticing the splatters of blood on the wall and his stomach churned.

The person on the ground wore a black combat suit. _An agent. _Averting his eyes, Alex crept over to the glass door that connected to the ninth floor but there was nothing behind it; just an identical corridor to the one on the tenth floor and two doors leading off to apartments.

Straining his ears, he tried to pick up on any noise before carrying on but it was still deadly quiet. He knew he had to hurry up. If the lift wasn't working then the only way Yassen could come back up was the stairwell and he really didn't feel like bumping into the assassin again. One encounter a day was really as much as he could handle.

Shortly after, Alex reached the eighth floor and found another dead agent, this time behind the glass door. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. A straight head shot.

Alex had to turn away. This was horrible. His nerves were starting to get the better of him again and he balled his fists, immediately regretting that careless move as his injured arm and cut up fingers protested. Cradling his arm, he continued on his way down.

From time to time, he dared to peek over the chrome banister in the middle of the stairwell, but there seemed to be nobody else here beside him. The silence was eerie.

He passed the seventh floor and encountered the third dead body between the sixth and the fifth, sprawled on the steps, the blood trickling down from the hole in his neck. Pressed against the handrail, Alex moved passed him, trying to avoid stepping into the puddle of blood. His stomach heaved and he swallowed thickly.

That was when he caught sight of the agent's gun lying at the bottom of the stairs. He had decided against searching for a weapon in Yassen's apartment, but now... with one lying so conveniently in his reach. And after what he'd seen... Carrying a gun would at least calm his nerves if nothing else.

Alex picked it up and was relieved to find it without any blood splatters. That was, until he'd touched it. Some of the cuts on his fingers were still bleeding and he dabbed his hands against his trousers to get a better grip on the gun. A suppressor was attached to it. He checked for the safety catch and enabled it, before tugging the gun into the side of his trousers.

After another flight of stairs, he'd reached the end of the stairwell. The only way ahead was a door with frosted glass that obscured the view to what lay behind it. Slowly, Alex pushed the door open and peered inside, only to see another white corridor like all the others before. The whole building was made of chrome and marble, white walls and glass and he wasn't sure if it looked like a hospital or just like a very clean, high-end apartment building. Maybe a bit of both.

The dead agents and their blood on the stairs and the wall had looked worse in these otherwise clean and untainted surroundings.

Quietly, he slipped into the corridor, closing the door and pressing himself against the wall. About three metres ahead of him was a turn to the right. He inched forward and still everything was completely silent.

When he reached the corner, he saw a cleaning cart just around the bend and a smaller corridor a few metres down the hall that led off to the left. And-

Fuck, Yassen.

Alex ducked behind the cart and winced as he very nearly bumped into it, which would have drawn the Russian's attention for sure. Chances were that the man would've just fired at the cart without even checking who was behind it. He took a silent, shaky breath and stared at his trembling and blood-stained hands.

What was he supposed to _do_? Wait here? Hope that the assassin wouldn't notice him when he came back to return to his apartment? Alex nearly scoffed.

Shifting slightly, he was able to see through a little gap between the brooms and buckets on the cart.

Yassen stood with his back flush against the wall, his gun levelled and his head turned away from Alex. There was something inhuman about the calmness that was radiating from him. As if he was comfortable, completely at ease with the situation he was in. Agents were probably swarming the building; he'd already killed three or more in less than fifteen minutes and would probably continue to up that count.

The thought was... terrifying.

For a moment, Alex was confused when the Russian didn't move even after several seconds; that was when he caught sight of a dark shape behind the frosted glass of the door at the end of the corridor. Another agent.

Suddenly, he felt cold all over. The assassin was going to kill that agent and he had to do, or at least try to do, something to prevent that.

Alex automatically pulled the gun from his trousers when he picked up on a little motion in the corner of his eyes and turned his head. There was a door in the little hall that led off to the left. A small, silver sign of a bucket and a broom showed that it was probably the room with all the cleaning equipment. And the door to it had just opened a fraction.

Tensing, he moved a little farther behind the cart and watched as the door opened wider, revealing a man in black combat clothes. Another agent. Alex' gaze flickered over to Yassen who didn't seem to have noticed and who was now slowly moving closer to the door at the end of the corridor.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, careful not to tear open the cuts on his fingers that had only just stopped bleeding, before releasing the safety catch noiselessly.

What was he supposed to do? Sit back and see if they would just kill each other off?

_Yassen saved your life. Several times already,_ his conscience piped up and he bit his lip, looking at the Russian again; studying his profile for a few, short seconds. The even rise and fall of his chest, his short blonde hair and the cold blue eyes. Hardly twenty minutes ago the assassin had come very close to killing him again but hadn't gone through with it. Yet.

/Do you know... that he's only ever once hesitated to kill someone?/

_God, why do I have to remember this _now_? I don't get it. Why does he keep sa- _

The sudden realisation was like a punch in the gut. _Because of my dad. Because of their friendship, but... _His mouth went dry. _That was all a lie. Yassen doesn't know the truth. He doesn't... _

Alex stared at the Russian; dread was crawling up his back. _If he ever finds out he'll kill me. _

By now, the other agent had moved closer to the corner of the wall and probably had a clear shot at the assassin. He brought his gun up and Alex watched as the man disabled the safety catch.

Anxiety and panic were churning in his stomach and he could taste the adrenaline at the back of his throat, his mind screaming at him to make a do something. _Now! _His breathing and pulse must've been loud enough to hear through the entire building and Alex thought that his vision was starting to blur around the edges.

His hands were shaking so badly he doubted that he'd be able to do anything even if he wanted to. Anything he'd be aiming at right now, he'd probably miss by a margin of approximately ten metres.

_No, you won't, _a small voice at the back of his mind whispered, reminding him of his training on Malagosto. He'd done fairly well. _But I can't shoot at people, I just... can't. _

The gun felt heavy, too heavy a burden for him to carry. During all his missions he'd wanted to have a lethal weapon, had asked Smithers for one time and again, and had been disappointed when it had been denied to him. But now...

They were right. He wasn't ready for this.

_I may be able to save Yassen's life. _Alex hesitated and closed his eyes for a brief moment. _Do I even want that? He killed Ian and countless other people in cold blood. _

_And he won't hesitate a second to kill me too if he finds out the truth about my father. If I just stay here Yassen will be injured and captured or killed. It's what he deserves, isn't it? _

He could see the agent lowering his gun, taking aim at the Russian and Alex gripped the gun harder. There was no strength in his legs, his knees were trembling but somehow he still managed to push himself up against the wall, only moving as far as the cart would still conceal him.

_What am__ I going to do? Oh god, what am I going to do? _

His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as his finger slipped into the trigger guard. The blood coursing through his body and thrumming in his ears was deafening.

_Yassen saved my life so many times. If I- if I help him now we're even, right? I just have to distract the guy; I don't even have to aim at him. I don't have to hurt anybody... _

The agent's finger was curling around the trigger.

Alex jumped to his feet, bringing his own gun up when he remembered what Gordon Ross, the instructor on the shooting range on Malagosto, had taught him about instinctive firing.

/Shoot instantly, don't stop to aim. If you believe that you can hit the target, you will hit the tar-/

_No! _

But it was already too late. He'd pulled the trigger.

There was only the small crack of the recoil and a sharp whizzing sound before the agent's head snapped to the side; followed by a short gush of blood, something wet hitting the wall and a dull thud as the man tipped to the side and collapsed on the floor, his gun cluttering loudly as it fell from his hand.

_No. No, no, no..._

Alex thought the corridor had tilted, turning. More gunshots whizzed through the air and then, another low thud. Footsteps. He was grabbed by the shoulders; his arms that he'd wrapped protectively around his head were pulled away.

He looked up and stared at Yassen with wide eyes.

The Russian was saying something, but his voice was so far away, like hearing it through a long tunnel. He didn't understand. A frown was creasing the man's brows as he eyed Alex for a moment. The assassin pulled him up onto his feet and Alex saw the other agent on the floor just behind the door, a puddle of blood slowly growing beneath him.

_I killed somebody. _

His eyes flickered over to the agent he'd shot and he swayed dangerously, already expecting to fall when there was nothing in reach to hold him upright. But then his right arm was caught by the assassin, steadying him.

Alex found his footing again and took a step back, feeling the wall with his hands, his eyes meeting Yassen's who scrutinised him with a doubtful expression. Letting go of Alex, the assassin picked up the gun Alex had used, shoved it into his sweatpants and pulled him along, out of the corridor. They were back in the stairwell and he had the vague impression that the Russian was speaking to him.

_I killed an innocent person. _

They passed several dead bodies, the stench of blood and death turning his stomach.

Seconds blurred together and the next thing he knew they were back in the assassin's apartment. Cold sweat was running down his back and he had trouble breathing properly. The air seemed to get stuck halfway down his throat and he tried to breathe faster, shorter. Just to somehow...

"Alex!"

Flinching, he looked at Yassen again, startled by the man's loud voice. What was happening? Why was he back in the Russian's apartment? He'd meant to get away.

"Alex, look at me." The assassin was holding him by the shoulders, he seemed concerned.

Well, that was strange.

_I'm okay, _Alex wanted to say, but somehow the words wouldn't come. _Am I? Okay? _It didn't feel as if he was. "I killed that man," he blurted out instead and regretted it almost instantly.Saying it out loud, _hearing _it out loud made everything... worse.

It wasn't the first time he had killed somebody, he tried to reason with himself.

But this time...

...the man was innocent; he'd just been doing his job. He wasn't some egomaniacal lunatic trying to take over the world by killing hundreds of thousands of people. He hadn't threatened Alex' life. In fact, he had probably been here to get him out.

"Listen," Yassen implored.

But he didn't, couldn't. "I didn't even mean to... I just- I..." Alex stuttered and shook his head. What if that agent had had family? The sharp stab of guilt made him wince, the memory of Ian clear in his mind. Was there a kid out there somewhere that was going to be told his dad had died in a car crash too? A wife that never knew about her husband's job?

"Then why did you do it?" Yassen demanded, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Wha- what?" Hesitating, he blinked, confused by the Russian's question. _Why did I...? _For a long moment, he couldn't wrap his mind around what to say, his thoughts going in circles. _I did it because... because I... _"He could've killed you," he answered before he could think better of it.

The assassin's reaction was as unexpected as it was short, the surprised rise of his brows and the shift of _something _behind those cold blue eyes gone too fast to tell if Alex had only imagined it.

"Alex..."

"But I only meant to distract him! I never- I would never..." Closing his eyes, he reached up and covered them with a hand; a dull throbbing had started in his temples. That was when he noticed that he was shaking again and sudden panic gripped him. There wasn't a single, coherent thought he could get hold of.

_I'm not a murderer. _

Images of the dead agent, of all the blood, the way his head had snapped almost unnaturally wide to the side kept repeating themselves, mixing with his memories of the night the police had come to his house in Chelsea to tell him about his uncle's death. Pictures of nameless people, a possible family. Who would tell them? _This is my fault. _

The ground beneath his feet felt unsteady but in truth it was his knees that had given out. He stared at Yassen in bewilderment as he sat on the floor. "I'm- I'm not... not a..."

_I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't, please... _

"You need to stop thinking about what happened." The Russian had crouched down in front of him, his expression caught between irritation and... helplessness?

Looking into the assassin's clear blue eyes was unsettling. There was no emotion in them, no horror of what had just happened, no concern about the consequences. _He's so calm. _His vision started to swim and he blinked the tears away. That didn't feel right. He wasn't... sad.

"I can't..." Alex whispered hoarsely. Part of him wanted to run away. Deny anything ever happened. "How could I?" He accused, still looking at Yassen and once again he couldn't get any air into his lungs. "I'm not like _you_!"

_I'm not a killer. Not like you. I'm not..._

The Russian pressed his lips into a thin line and it was hard to tell if Alex' words had any effect at all. "I did not say you were. But you need to calm down." He touched Alex' right arm, squeezing it reassuringly as if wanting to distract him from concentrating too much on what was going on inside his head. "Take a deep breath and stop thinking about it."

"I _can't_!" Alex' voice had a high pitch to it, the words scratching down his dry throat when he realised he really couldn't... stop thinking about. The armchair at his back and the assassin in front of him made him feel claustrophobic and he reached out, grabbing Yassen's arms to push him away but suddenly he was holding on to them, his fingers digging into the Russian's arms. "What if he had family?"

The pictures kept flashing through his mind over and over. _Please, I didn't mean to..._

"Alex-"

"What if there's someone waiting for him to come ho-"

Alex froze, looking at Yassen in quiet astonishment, his grip on the assassin's arms loosening a fraction as colour rose into his cheeks, and his initial reaction was to pull back. But he found himself glued to the spot, even unable to avert his eyes to avoid the Russian's calm gaze that made him feel almost bashful, although he hadn't even been the one to initiate the...

_He's kissing me._

His skin prickled as the realisation sunk in and he couldn't suppress the small shiver that ran up his spine. Blinking slowly, he tried to make sense of what was happening and _why _it was happening. But Yassen's lips, soft and warm against his, made it rather difficult to concentrate on anything at all.

When the Russian's hand on Alex' shoulder moved to the nape of his neck, his fingers pressing lightly into his skin just below his ear and where his hairline began, the tension drained out of him and it became hard to hold his eyes open as he slumped against the armchair.

_What's he... doing? _

The assassin nudged his tongue lightly against Alex' lower lip, licking over it enticingly and there was a nervous tingling in his stomach at how familiar it felt. His mind clouded from the sensation of having his personal space so thoroughly invaded by Yassen.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Alex opened his mouth and shuddered as the Russian's tongue slipped past his lips. A quiet sound was caught in the back of his throat and he drew a shaky breath as much as the assassin's mouth on his would allow it. The silly thought that they were sharing the same air crossed his mind.

Tentatively, Alex wrapped his arms around Yassen's neck, ignoring the protesting twinge in his left arm and his stinging fingers as he buried them in the soft, dark fabric of the assassin's shirt. They were so close he could smell the Russian and was surprised by the absence of anything that would have made him think of all the blood still out in the stairwell. Much to the contrary, Yassen's scent was a mix of something clean and citrus-y, maybe a shampoo, and something fresh but incredibly sultry that could've been an aftershave. It was very subtle and hadn't he been as close as he was, he probably would never have picked up on it.

He was horribly tempted to lean in and bury his nose in the assassin's neck, inhaling that scent that gave him goose bumps. Compared to their first kiss, however, he felt awfully shy about it this time, his obvious inexperience a constant reminder that he hardly knew what to do.

But the Russian didn't seem to mind as he coaxed Alex into responding, running his tongue along Alex' and teasing the top of his mouth. His lids fluttered at the skilled ministration before sliding shut and he pushed his fear to make a mistake aside, finally kissing back.

A tremor ran up his spine as Yassen's other hand brushed his thigh briefly.

Their tongues tangled and the press of the assassin's mouth turned more demanding, his fingers playing with the short strands of Alex' hair.

Alex couldn't tell anymore why the Russian was kissing him or how they'd even gotten into this situation. This was so many kinds of wrong that just thinking about all the possibilities, the things Yassen had done to him two months ago and how awfully good it had felt, shouldn't be so exhilarating. All his attempts to ban those illicit memories from his mind were rendered obsolete.

How often had he struggled with himself to forget about it, to stop wondering whether it had meant anything to the assassin?

_Please._

Alex' legs fell open as he pulled the assassin closer and a moment later he was lying flat on the floor. One of Yassen's hands at his lower back and the other on his hips, half holding him down and he arched up as the Russian's fingers dug into a sensitive spot just above his bum.

They were still kissing and he was running out of air.

Pulling at the assassin's shirt, his hands trailed over strong shoulder blades and he felt Yassen's muscles shifting beneath the surface as the Russian's weight partially settled on top of him. The assassin's intimidating strength was an incredible turn-on, the thought that he wouldn't be able to get away even if he wanted to just making it worse. _Two months..._

One of Yassen's hands dipped under his jacket and sweatshirt, the touch hot and unexpected against Alex' side and his stomach tensed involuntarily as calloused fingers brushed over it, ghosting up his side and-

Arching off the ground, Alex clutched at the assassin's shoulders, his moan muffled between their lips as Yassen thumbed over a nipple.

They were both panting when the Russian pulled back, but he didn't leave Alex any time to catch his breath as he ripped Aleksander's scarf off, flinging it aside. He inclined his head and mouthed a trail of scorching kisses along Alex' neck.

Alex bit his lip, barely stifling another moan as he scratched up the assassin's back, bucking his hips. A deep blush coloured his cheeks when Yassen's clothed erection rubbed against his own. Inevitable memories of how it had felt to touch it, to feel it inside of him flooded his mind and worsened the dull, aching need in the pit of his stomach.

By now they were practically grinding against each other, the Russian's hand back on Alex' hips as he yanked him closer. Yassen's breath was hot on his neck, mingling with the feeling of his tongue and lips. The onslaught was quickly becoming too much, the assassin's alteration between licks and kisses and occasional bites making Alex tremble. A desperate whimper escaped him.

"_Yassen_." His plea was choked, his voice cracking.

And just like that it ended.

The Russian was gone and Alex snapped his eyes open in surprise, blinking, disoriented when he saw Yassen standing in front of him with clenched fists, his chest rising and falling rapidly and he had his face turned away from Alex.

"Wha- what are you... doing?" Alex stuttered and noticed a first wave of embarrassment catching up with him. He tried to get his breathing back under control and sat up with shaking arms, wincing at yet another painful jab from his injuries.

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched but he didn't answer. Instead he turned on his heels and vanished into the adjacent bedroom.

Still aroused and by now completely confused, Alex watched him leave. _What's... going on? I don't..._

He glanced down at the obvious distension in his trousers and felt his cheeks heat up some more. Shifting uncomfortably, he got to his feet, standing on unsteady legs and supported himself against the armchair before gingerly sitting down on its armrest.

His eyes flickered to the broken glass doors of the cabinet. Yassen hadn't said anything about it. Would he be angry? _Even more than before? _Alex thought uneasily and contemplated making a run for it but decided against it. He tugged at his clothes, blushing at the reason why he was in such a ruffled state.

_What the hell just happened? _

The assassin emerged again, having changed into a black turtleneck, black slacks and a pair of equally black sneakers. He looked at Alex with slightly narrowed eyes as if displeased by his presence; a dark duffle bag in his right hand. "We need to leave."

* * *

Alright, as always: Lemme know what you think. ^^ (criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive)

Russian lines:

Что за чёрт? Ты с ума сошла, женщина? – What the hell/fuck? Have you lost your mind, woman? (Let me comment on this for a second, чёрт really means „devil" but I think the saying „What the devil?" doesn't really exist in English or at least I've never heard it used. In German, however, the same as in Russian they use "devil") (And another comment: Yassen would NEVER say any of that in English. XD Like. Never. There are just a few idiosyncrasies about him when it comes to Russian which I think make sense. It's his mother tongue, he grew up with it and I think since he's a person that has learned many languages, Russian still holds something more personal to him. English for example is after all the language he's learned when he became a killer. Well, that's how it's in my universe anyways…XD)

Я не понимаю. Что…? – I don't understand. What...?

XDD Sorry, for all my ramblings/rants in between. I'm sure you all just skipped that and I can't really blame you.


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